Draconis and Ginevra
by cinnamon badge
Summary: [DracoGinny] She is a Weasley. He is a Malfoy. The blood feud between their ancient houses has gone on for centuries, and they have been raised to hate each other with every fiber of their being. But fate, it seems, has a wicked sense of humor...
1. Queen Mab

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not mine.

**Queen Mab**

"_I see Queen Mab hath been with you..."_

He has never dreamt, but lately, he dreams of her.

There is a distinct perfume in the air around her, assailing his senses with the illusion of flowers, and he is overwhelmed by the stirring the scent causes in his soul. He opens dream-filled eyes and there she is, a radiant fire goddess, burning so brightly that his only desire is to be consumed by her flame, licked by the tongues of heat that curl away from her face. He stretches out one hand to touch her fire and finds -- no, it is her hair. Hair so red and soft it whispers against his skin, slipping through his fingers like water, like sand in an hourglass.

She reaches out to him and brushes his face with her fingertips, and he is unraveled. With pale, icy hands he touches her, and the feel of her makes him tremble with lust so dark and deep it is barely contained. His hands trail up her slender arms, to her throat, and with his fingers tangled in her hair he dares kiss her rosebud lips. He kisses her and she kisses him back and it is like dying, exploding through him like a spontaneous supernova. His blood, which he had thought so cold and dead, hums through his veins like canned heat, like something alive, and he feels his body react to her as it has never reacted to any other woman. He craves her, longs for her, needs her like he needs his next breath.

And her eyes -- oh Merlin, her eyes! One look into those pure pools of golden brown and he is swirling away into nothing, for he is as nothing in her glorious presence. He cannot dominate her; he has been utterly cowed. He would build monuments and temples to her image, to the goodness in her soul, to the love that shines from her heart that has now filled his own to bursting. He is on his knees before her, his lips pressed to the flat plane of her stomach. Her fingers weave through his fine hair, holding him close to her body. It is almost more than he can bear.

He wakes in the morning and immediately feels her loss, and the dampness on his bedsheets. He mutters to himself in embarrassment. He hasn't had a wet dream since he was a teenager, not since finding willing partners became easy, and never one so powerful as the one he has just had. As he stands a few minutes later under the steady stream of hot water, he thinks of her, wanting to know her. Wanting to know her name. Or if she is even real.

In the privacy of his own mind, far from the cold and unfeeling eyes of the world, he does not think he could survive if she were not real.

The mere thought of her is enough to engulf him again, and he takes himself to a second dizzying climax.


	2. Thumb Biting

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter One - Thumb Biting**

"_I will bite my thumb at them, which is disgrace to them if they bear it."_

Whispers followed them wherever they went, no matter what time of day or day of the week or the looks on their faces. Whether they were tired or alert, depressed, anxious, giddy, agreeable, the wizarding world always had the time to gape openly at Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

"That's him, Mum, that's him!" children would whisper excitedly to their parents, jumping and pointing. "He killed Lord Voldemort, remember?"

As if anyone could forget. Colin Creevey had won an Order of Merlin, Third Class, for his photograph of the moment the world was safe again: Harry, standing breathlessly above the mound of human flesh that had once been a powerful Dark Lord, with Ron and Hermione Granger standing just in back of him. The celebrations had lasted for months, the gaiety, the laughter, the feeling that a massive burden had been lifted from the collective shoulders of wizarding England. And at the center of it all, the Heroic Trio, revered and respected like earthbound deities.

It was no different now than it ever had been. Harry had destroyed Voldemort six years ago and still the staring went on. He pulled up the collar on his Muggle track jacket and ducked behind it a little, hoping maybe Ron would grab the bulk of the attention for once.

Ron noticed his discomfort, especially as there was now a knot of giggling teenage witches fast approaching them, and he thought quickly. "Care for a butterbeer, Harry? On me?"

"Cheers," Harry said, grinning, and they dove into the little cafe that had opened in place of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor.

"George and Fred're probably busy now anyway, it being a peak time," Ron said, as they walked towards a small table in the corner. The cafe was crowded with people, mostly Ministry workers on late lunch breaks, and the low hum of conversation filled the air. The two of them walked through nearly unnoticed. "They can get tetchy during rush hours."

"Listen to you, spouting all those fancy business terms," Harry teased.

"Oh, sod off," Ron said, reddening. "You should hear Ginny go on about supply and demand and production costs."

A waitress in blue-and-yellow striped robes approached their table then, shaking and smiling at two of the wizarding world's greatest heroes. "What c-can I g-get for you?" she stuttered.

"Just butterbeers, thanks," Harry said with a kind grin for her. She rushed off to complete their order, and Harry saw some people on the far side of the cafe that he had failed to notice before.

"Slytherins," he hissed, eyebrows drawing together, and Ron turned to see Montague, Nott, and Warrington sitting together at a table by the window. "Bloody hell, I thought their kind would have cleared off a long time ago."

"No, Dad says that they're respectable now," Ron said, frowning just as darkly. "Montague's high up in the Ministry, and Nott and Warrington have lots of gold, which is about the same thing." He cracked his knuckles. Once thin and gangly from having grown so tall too quickly, Ron had become a formidable, threatening figure that had made criminals cower before him in his work as an Auror.

Abruptly, Montague noticed Harry and Ron's attention, and he nudged Nott and Warrington. Ron and Harry quickly looked away, at each other, and Harry could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

"D'you think they'll cause trouble?"

"Wouldn't put it past them," Ron said.

"Right," Harry agreed, nodding. "What I wouldn't give to interrogate any one of them, you know? Bet they were all Death Eaters, or spies of some kind."

"They should all be in Azkaban with their fathers," Ron growled.

The waitress returned with their butterbeers, which Ron paid for, and when Harry next risked a look at the Slytherins's table, Warrington was giving him a look that made clear his intent. "Something's going to happen, Ron," he muttered. His hands twitched towards his wand, concealed in a special pocket on the inside of his jacket. Nearly all of the Death Eaters and supporters of Voldemort had already been caught, and he was longing for a chance to further rid the world of any traces of the dark wizard.

"Don't you dare, Harry," Ron said. "How would that look, the Boy Who Lived starting fights in public?"

"I don't bloody care about --"

"_I_ do." Ron met his eyes squarely. "My dad's running for Minister, Harry. And Mum -- I don't even want to think about the Howler she'd send you. Reckon it would make you go deaf."

"Fine." Harry gulped down half of his butterbeer in one go. "But if they start something I'm not backing down. All right?"

"All right," Ron said reluctantly, though he murmured something under his breath about what Hermione would think. Harry continued to dart surreptitious looks in the Slytherins's direction. Their attention did not waver, not for a moment. Montague nodded toward Harry and said something to Nott that made him burst out laughing, and Harry gripped his wand through his clothes. He itched to get them, to put them in their place for once and for all.

They finished their drinks faster than they had intended, and Harry stood. Almost instantly Montague followed, and then Nott and Warrington. Ron scrambled to his feet, his face and ears bright red. "Shit," he whispered, as he followed Harry out, "shit, Hermione's gonna cripple me..."

As soon as they were clear of the door Harry unzipped his jacket, just a bit, to give himself easier access to his wand. He knew Ron kept his in a pocket in his sleeve, and he was fingering it through the heavy knit of his sweater. Seconds behind them out came Warrington, followed by Montague and Nott. All wore amused grins on their faces.

"Fancy meeting you here, Potter," Warrington said pleasantly. His wand was already in his hand. "Shouldn't you be off saving the world or something?" Nott laughed, and Harry's rage became insuppressible, a living thing in his chest with a mind of its own.

"Yeah," he spat. "Saving the world from scum like your Death Eater father."

Warrington's calm demeanor vanished, and he stared at Ron and Harry in pure, seething hatred. "Don't you dare talk about my father," he hissed. "You aren't fit to wipe his shoes."

"No, you've got that backwards," Harry said. By now, a small crowd had gathered around them in the street, and several people inside the cafe had their noses pressed against the glass to see what was happening. "He isn't fit to wipe mine. He's nothing but a convict wasting away in Azkaban."

It came so fast that later no one could rightly remember who had cast it, for suddenly, a bright red jet of light was hurtling towards Harry. He barely managed to duck in time, and in the space of a few moments he had whipped out his wand and he and Ron had entered full-fledged attack mode. Diagon Alley had become a battle zone.

The crowd around them gasped and moved out of the way as best they could, but no one could tear their eyes away from the fight. Harry was screaming curses and hexes at the tops of his lungs, while Ron, who had mastered nonverbals, aimed his wand with deadly accuracy at their opponents. The Slytherins had spread out, covering more ground, and Harry and Ron were only just able to handle all three of them. They knew they were outnumbered.

"_Ron! Harry!_" They could only spare a fraction of a second to look to see who was calling them, but soon after Fred and George had pushed themselves through the crowds, wands withdrawn, and entered the fray. Harry grinned maniacally at Montague, who was bleeding from a large gash in his forehead, and he sent several more vicious hexes he had learned from Hermione towards them. Fred and George's dark eyes blazed with fury, and their wands flew in all directions as they countered and returned attacks from the enemy. At this rate, they could have the three sons of Death Eaters rounded up and at Auror headquarters for questioning in just a few more minutes.

That was until Goyle and Crabbe wandered towards the fighting, looking strange without the familiar presence of Draco Malfoy between them. Nott shouted to them, and the two wide boys blundered their way into the crossfire, making it yet again in favor of the Slytherins. Harry was growing desperate, even as he managed to hit Crabbe with a nasty fungus hex. The four of them couldn't last much longer unless someone came to help them. Maybe Ginny, who had likely been left in charge of the shop in Fred and George's absence, would show up and even things out again.

"_ENOUGH!_" And then, without warning, the nine young men were all flung to the far sides of the street, knocked nearly breathless. The crowds parted easily before the imposing figure of a man dressed solidly in navy blue robes: the current Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"What on Earth is going on here?" Kingsley bellowed, his deep voice rumbling through the distress of the spectators. "Fighting like common Muggles in the street? Disrupting the peace?" He turned and saw Harry, laying on his back regaining his breath. "I expected better from you, Harry, Ron," he said, and Harry hated the way he sounded so disappointed. They had failed somehow. They were Aurors, for Merlin's sake, fighting like there were no laws in place to prevent this very same thing from happening. He would be lucky to escape this incident with his office still intact.

"They started it," Ron burst out.

"We did _not_ --" Montague roared.

"_Silence!_" Kingsley shouted, moving between the two camps of attackers. "You're all acting like children instead of adults, and I'm through with it. There have been too many fights like this in the past year, and I worry for the safety of the innocent public." He eyed each one of them in turn, frowning heavily at all of them. "I'm going to send you off with reprimands this time, since no one was seriously injured, but next time there's a fight like this -- no matter who is involved -- everyone in the fight will be arrested and tried for disturbing the peace. Is that clear?"

The Slytherins all muttered their responses, and Harry, picking himself up, said, "Yes, Minister. It won't happen again."

Kingsley shook his head, and watched as Ron, Fred, and George all got back to their feet. "Make _sure_ nothing like this happens again, Harry," he said. "That is all." With one last scornful look for them all, he swept away in the direction he had come from.

Harry busied himself with straightening his disheveled robes, avoiding the stares of the crowd around them. The Slytherins all sneered at them before darting off towards Knockturn Alley, and Ron shot them a nasty look. "Kingsley should've cuffed 'em," he muttered. "They started it."

"Let's just get out of here," George said. "Ginny's by herself at the shop, and there was a huge crowd when we left." Resigned, bleeding a little but relatively unhurt, the four trekked off towards Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes.

Ginny saw them coming when they were still some way down the alley, and it took all of her self-control to stay at her post behind the main counter until they walked in the door. The two little boys at the register, who had just wiped out the store's stock of Canary Creams, gaped at the four men and what probably looked like their war wounds. "Do I really want to know what you've all been up to?" she asked, raising her eyebrows in a way that would have put Molly Weasley to shame.

"Some slimy Slytherins decided they wanted to attack us, didn't they?" Harry said angrily. "We didn't do anything but defend ourselves."

"Don't say anything to Mum, Gin," Ron pleaded. "She'd have kittens if she knew."

"It'll be in the _Daily Prophet_ anyway, you realize," Ginny said, relinquishing the counter to George, who was the least hurt of the four. Surreptitiously, she checked their battle wounds until she was sure none of them were serious. "I think you'd rather Mum heard it from you than from the newspaper."

"She's got a point," Fred said, wiping sticky goo from his face. It looked like someone had hit him with a Stinksap Hex, one of the newest hexes that was flying around. "So good luck, Ron."

"What? Why am I stuck with telling Mum?"

"Because Fred and George've got to man the shop, and Gin and I are going out," Harry said, grinning at her.

Ginny had completely forgotten about it. Harry had decided that, living entirely in the wizarding world, she was missing out on the wonders of something called "the moovys." He had also decided that they probably wouldn't actually be watching much of said moovys, which was much more understandable and even less desirable to Ginny's ears. Harry was all right, and she did care for him -- but in the same way she cared about Ron. And she certainly didn't want to sit in a moovy theater snogging her own brother.

"Unbelievable," Ron muttered, headed to the loo in the back of the shop to clean the blood off his face.

"Oh man, that was cold," Fred said with a low whistle. "And you're supposed to be his best mate!"

Harry shrugged and slung an arm around Ginny's shoulders. "Ron can get out of tight situations when he's on Auror duty. He should know by now how to handle your mum."

Ginny rolled her eyes and jabbed him with her elbow. "We'll be by the Burrow tomorrow for damage control," she said pointedly.

"Of course," Harry said. He checked his watch. "Bloody hell, we're going to have to run for it if we're going to make that movie in time. See you round, Fred, George."

"Keep your hands where we can see them!" they shouted back in unison as the two left the shop. Harry and Ginny both laughed. All of the Weasley boys had been giving Harry a hard time for years for dating their youngest sister, and they were more than used to it by now.

"You're all right, aren't you, Harry?" Ginny asked, after they had crossed through the Leaky Cauldron and into Muggle London. "The Slytherins didn't get you too badly?"

"Nah," Harry said, squeezing her hand. "I'm fine. Kingsley caught us halfway through, before we could kill each other."

"The Minister? You didn't say anything about that before!"

"It's nothing, Gin," he said, frowning at her. "No one got into trouble, though Kingsley did say that the next group of people caught fighting would be arrested. I'm smart enough to know when to stop."

"Could've fooled me," Ginny said dryly, then smiled to lessen the blow. Harry kissed her forehead, and she had to resist the temptation to squirm away. Harry was a wonderful bloke, she would never deny that, but when he kissed her she just felt uncomfortable.

Her thoughts of Harry and her lack of interest in their relationship went, however, down an entirely different path when an elderly woman passed them by wearing a long silver-gray coat. Gray. It seemed that she saw that color everywhere now, whether it was in clothing, pictures, food, furniture -- had it always been so omnipresent, or was she merely noticing it all now that her dreams were so focused on it?

Gray eyes. She saw gray eyes in her dreams, focused on nothing and no one but her, and so full of love and adoration that she could feel it like a tangible thing, flooding through her veins and giving her life. Though the dreams would give her no further visual detail besides his fathomless eyes, she could feel his hands on her skin, only just brushing with the very tips of his fingers, and every singular sensation was enough to drive her nearly over the edge. His lips whispered against her throat, her eyes, her own lips, words too soft to distinguish but hinting at sentiments that made her feel sexy and wanted. She would shudder so uncontrollably his hands would have to reach out to steady her. And when she woke in the morning, the nighttime visions already slipping away from her, she would wonder and be ashamed of herself for enjoying the dreams so much.

Because Harry's eyes were green, not gray. Because Harry was her boyfriend, and he loved her.

She had told just one person about her dreams: Luna Lovegood. The two of them had maintained their friendship steadily through the war and afterwards, and Ginny found she could tell Luna anything without fear of harsh criticism or of her secrets reaching the wrong ears. For being the editor of a salacious and gossipy magazine, Luna was surprisingly discreet.

"I don't know anyone that has gray eyes," Luna had said, when Ginny told her one afternoon at tea. "That's a very unusual color. I wonder if it means he was stung by a Hooked-Fang Lissapat as a child?"

"Luna, they're practically pornographic, these dreams," Ginny muttered, blushing bright red.

"Well then," the blonde had said, winking at her, "I don't see what you're complaining about."

"Luna!"

"Yes, I know you have a boyfriend," Luna said, nibbling at a cookie. "Don't you know that hardly anyone is mentally faithful to their spouse or partner? We conducted a poll at the _Quibbler_ last week, and just about everyone polled said that they have had fantasies about other sexual partners while with other people. Gladys Gudgeon said she's been happily married to her husband Archibald for forty years, and she still has naughty dreams about Gilderoy Lockhart."

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "Dear Merlin. Someone please Obliviate me." Luna laughed loudly, and they sat in relative silence for a few moments, listening to the rest of the people in the cafe with them. "Thanks though, Luna," Ginny said finally. "I feel a little better. I guess I just wish these dreams didn't come every night, you know?"

"It's a phase. I used to dream about Icarus Jones, from Icarus and the Wings. He plays guitar so well."

Harry brought her back to the present by putting his hand at the small of her back. "We're here," he said, smiling at her, and she noticed that they had indeed arrived at the moovy theater. "Do you want popcorn?"

Ginny exhaled slowly and shook her head. It would not do to dwell in dreams.

* * *

Someone knocked at the door to Draco Malfoy's office. Draco, who was busy releasing and catching a Snitch, shouted, "I said I didn't want to be disturbed!"

"Not even for an old friend?"

The voice was a familiar one, and Draco, chuckling, waved his hand and opened the door. There stood Blaise Zabini, impeccably dressed in a white Muggle shirt and pressed charcoal trousers. "You prat," Draco said, standing and shaking Blaise's hand. "I told you yesterday that I'm not parting with any more of my stock options."

"Is that any way to talk to an old friend?" Blaise said, pouting. He seated himself in the leather chair on the other side of the desk and propped up his feet, despite Draco's halfhearted protests. "Your mother sent me on a mission. You know how hard it is to turn her down when she gives you that look of hers."

Draco rolled his eyes and released the Snitch. It darted out of his hand immediately, and just as quickly he snatched it back. "What is it this time?" he said. "I'm not visiting her? Not making enough money? I haven't married yet and provided an heir?"

"No, she was surprisingly maternal," Blaise said. "She wants to know why you've been all doom-and-gloom recently. Said that last time she saw you, you would barely string two words together. Now," Blaise laughed, his eyes twinkling, "I told her that's no different than normal, but she insisted you were, in her words, 'particularly morose.' I've got to report back to her, so you might as well at least come up with an excuse."

Draco let the Snitch go again, and this time allowed it to zip all around the room. "You know that it's been in writing for years that I'm going to marry Pansy Parkinson," he began.

"Much to your chagrin, yes."

"Let's just say that I recently realized the implications of that agreement, now I'm of a marrying age." Draco twisted his nose distastefully, as though there were something rotten within smelling distance. "Pansy is ridiculous. I'd rather marry a hippogriff."

"Oh, Draco," Blaise said, snorting with amusement. "You're being too kind to the poor girl."

"You marry her, then," Draco shot back. "The thought of sharing her bed gives me nightmares, quite frankly."

"Is this agreement really that binding? You've tripled the size of your inheritance since your father died, so you can certainly afford the best law wizards London can provide -- just dissolve the damn thing, if it's so hateful to you."

"That's easier said than done." Draco reached out and grabbed the loose Snitch without batting an eye. "Mother would be beside herself, since she adores Pansy. The Parkinsons would have my head on a stake. And Father would probably resurrect himself out of spite just to hex me into oblivion."

Blaise bit his lip thoughtfully while Draco shoved the Snitch into a small drawer. "You know, you're right," he finally declared. "If anyone was going to come back from the dead, it would be Lucius Malfoy, and it would be for as trivial a thing as that."

"Did you have something important to say?" Draco said irritably. He flipped carelessly through the files laid out upon his desk, not really seeing their contents. "I have a lot of work to do before I leave this evening."

"Warrington, Montague, Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle got in a bit of a tangle with Potter and some assorted Weasleys this afternoon in Diagon Alley."

Draco looked up. That was the fourth time in twice as many months, despite his threats of painful dismemberment should they fight with the Gryffindors again. One day they would all realize that the war had been over for years, and it was better to keep their noses clean than to pick fights with people on the winning side. "I think I'm really going to do it this time," he said blandly. "I'm going to kill them all."

"My suggestion would be to go to Arthur Weasley's nomination ball this weekend instead. Someone needs to kiss arse to make the right people forget about what happened in Diagon Alley, and no one kisses arse better than you do."

"Should I be flattered or disgusted?" Draco said with a mirthless laugh.

"Oh, very much flattered. It's how you managed to escape Azkaban, after all. I had to do it the old fashioned way and donate lots of money."

Draco suppressed another laugh. "Fine. What's the theme?"

"A masquerade, according to Daphne Greengrass. She's part of the planning committee. Weasley has some daft idea about going beyond our stereotypes and forging friendships with witches and wizards of all walks of life." Blaise snorted. "The man has some brilliant ideas, I won't deny that. But there are times when I seriously question his sanity."

"I'll actually have to be around Muggle lovers and mudbloods? Merlin help me." Draco and Blaise shared a sarcastic look that said that neither of them believed anymore in the kind of claptrap their fathers had fed them. It was a whole new world now, with the old prejudices completely smothered or hidden away. The only quarrels that still existed were the ones older than Voldemort, older than the wars and the living could even remember: the blood feuds, ancient hatred triggered by some event so far back in the past no one knew rightly what it had been, only that it had happened. Most blood feuds had been resolved over the years, either when one house went extinct or the two parties realized how silly the whole thing was. Only one remained: the oldest blood feud of all.

"Pansy will probably be at this little soiree, you know," Blaise said, conjuring himself a cup of tea. He took a delicate sip before continuing. "Her father has given Shacklebolt buckets of money, and he will likely want to do the same for Weasley, once he's elected."

"Good grief." Draco ran his hands through his long hair and sighed. "You know, I've almost resigned myself to marrying her."

"That's the spirit," Blaise said dryly.

"Well, really. Mother has high standards and Pansy is the only one that fits them."

"What about what _you_ want?"

He saw instantly a flash of her fiery red hair, the glow from her pearlescent skin as it shone from within. _She does not exist, she never existed_... Draco met his friend's gaze, determined to shake her from his thoughts. "I want Mother to leave me alone," he said flatly. "So I'll marry Pansy and have my bloody heir, and then content myself to fool around with mistresses."

Blaise didn't look convinced. "What's her name?"

"There is no one else."

"Then why did you just shiver when I asked what you wanted?"

Damn him and his excellent observational skills. "Because I'm cold," Draco snapped, and he stood and picked his cashmere sweater up off an end table where he had thrown it earlier. "What kind of costume should I wear for this masquerade, do you think?" he asked, looking out his office window. The view afforded him a breathtaking panorama of the city in all its glory: the London Bridge, Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, the majestic Thames -- it was entirely fake, for the window actually faced a blank brick wall.

"You could be a serpent," Blaise suggested.

"I was a serpent at the last masque I attended," Draco said tiredly. He caught himself thinking again of red hair, of fire. "A phoenix," he murmured.

Blaise blinked. "A phoenix? Merlin, Draco. When I said you had to kiss arse, I didn't think you'd go _that _far."

"I'll need all the support I can get if I plan on going through with some of my business propositions," he said, gesturing to the files on his desk. "I might as well start now, months before the elections."

"At least you plan ahead." Blaise banished his teacup with a wave of his wand, and came to his feet. "I'm going to the masque too, with Daphne, so I suppose I'll see you there if I don't see you until then. I'm going to be a pirate, and she'll be a nymph."

"How original," Draco said, but he extended his hand and they shook. "Tell my secretary on your way out that I need a phoenix costume."

"Tell her yourself," Blaise said, grinning, and with a short wave he left, pulling the door closed behind him.

Draco sat in his desk chair again, but he did not return to his work. He stared out at his fake view, his thoughts following the recursive pattern they had done for weeks now, ever since that first dream. He could think of little else these days, it seemed. Morning and night she was there, just inside the darkness of his eyelids, waiting for him. When he dreamt of her at night he would inevitably awake with the telltale damp bedsheets, and when she came during the day he trembled with desire. At first he had dismissed these visions as nothing but figments of his bored imagination, but when they kept coming, growing ever stronger and clearer, he realized he was not sure about anything anymore. Draco didn't know anyone who fit the description of the woman in his dreams, but every time he saw a flash of red hair in the street his heart would quicken in expectation. It was never her.

Sighing, he reached into the top drawer of his desk and pulled out the ring box his mother had pressed him to take one morning. Inside was the heirloom Malfoy engagement ring, given to generations of Malfoy brides, a spectacular piece of jewelry with a gigantic emerald set in sterling silver. "When you feel the time is right, give this to Pansy," Narcissa had said. "Make sure you ask her father first, before you do it, just as a formality."

Draco couldn't stand Reginus Parkinson. The man was nearly as wealthy as the Malfoys, but unlike them he had no sense of propriety, no taste, no sensibilities. If Draco approached him and officially asked for Pansy's hand, Parkinson would probably make some crass sexual comments and rude assumptions about the two of them. Loudly. In front of a lot of people. Really, Draco couldn't think of a man he wanted to have less to do with.

Pansy herself was little better. Lately she had been doing awful things to her hair, teasing and dyeing and all manner of things that made her hairdresser look incompetent with a wand, and her makeup was garish and hideous. She herself seemed to think that everyone else existed to serve her every need, and she was relentless when she had her mind set on something she wanted. Draco had meant it when he said he would rather marry a hippogriff. A hippogriff, at least, wouldn't make him want to turn his own wand upon himself.

Oh, but if his redhaired goddess existed... Draco groaned and closed his eyes. There would be no question about it. He would marry her in an instant, if only to keep her near him always. He would give her everything she desired, dress her in the best robes, dine with her in the finest restaurants, make love to her under the stars every night...

Someone knocked at the office door, jolting him from his reverie. Quickly pulling his chair under his desk to hide his reaction, he bellowed, "_What?_"


	3. Burn Bright

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Two - Burn Bright**

"_Did my heart love till now?"_

Luckily for Ron, Molly Weasley had been far too busy to be that angry with them. All week long the Burrow had been in a tizzy, as the Weasleys prepared for the masque being thrown to celebrate Arthur Weasley's recent nomination for Minister of Magic. Molly was constantly with her head in the hearth, checking and triple-checking to see that the decorators and caterers had made everything perfect. Arthur, who would be giving a speech, spent most of his time locked up in his office pacing and practicing his delivery. Fleur flounced around, despite being heavily pregnant, and wondered aloud what the reaction would be when she entered the masque in her swan costume.

"I dare say, ze men will not know what zey are seeing!" she cried, flinging her arms out dramatically.

"What am I, chopped liver?" Bill said in mock annoyance.

"Ah, but you are _mon_ chopped leever, _non_?" Fleur teased, giving him a loving kiss on his scarred cheek.

Ginny had decided weeks ago, when the idea of having a masque was first dreamt up, that she would be going as Athena, the Greek goddess of wisdom. Luna Lovegood had gone shopping with her and they had found a gorgeous pale blue toga, edged in heavy silver embroidery, with a silver crown of laurels to wear on her head and soft brown sandals for her feet. The silver mask she would wear was narrow, only just covering her eyes. Harry at first had wanted them to go together as Godric Gryffindor and his wife Aelis, but conceded when he realized that Ginny was firm on her choice.

"Ginny, are you dressed yet?" Molly's voice came up the stairs from the kitchen.

"No, Mum." She went downstairs in her raggedy dressing gown, her hair done up in magic curlers. "Hermione just cast an ironing spell on my costume and I'm waiting for it to finish."

"Is she ready?" Molly fussed with her own apparel as she spoke. She and Arthur were going as Tristan and Isolde, the lovers from Arthurian legend, and Ginny had to admit that her mother looked lovely in her bottle green robes and ornate golden mask. "It's only that the ball begins in an hour, and I just need to check that --"

"Everything will be perfect, Mum," Ron assured her from his seat at the kitchen table. He was dressed as one of the warrior wizards of old, wearing the crest of Saint George. "After all the time and effort you've put into everything, people will be talking about this ball for months."

"Oh," Molly flustered, "sweet of you to say, Ron dear, but I still --"

"The spell should be done now, Ginny." Ginny turned and saw Hermione coming down the stairs behind her, so she moved out of her way. Hermione had set her mind on being a scholar, so she was dressed in simple but pretty brown robes, with a design of books and scrolls and quills embroidered onto the fabric; her mask cleverly looked like a pair of glasses.

"Thanks, Hermione," Ginny said, and she started up the stairs, but not before seeing the look on Ron's face. She rolled her eyes. The two of them were almost disgusting the way they loved each other.

While Ginny dressed in her now neatly-pressed costume and added her accessories, she could hear numerous other people arriving at the back door, complimenting each other on their costumes and wondering what their friends would have chosen. Molly's voice sounded throughout, as she adjusted people's masks for them, asked questions about who would be there and who Arthur had to see when they arrived. "Ginny!" Ron called up eventually. "Come on, the rest of us're leaving!"

"Coming!" Ginny gave herself one last once-over in the mirror before grabbing her silver mask and thundering down the stairs.

Harry had arrived in the meantime, dressed as Godric Gryffindor. He was waiting for her by the back door, as her brothers and their wives filed out into the back garden to Apparate. She couldn't help but admit that he looked fantastic in his costume. As he turned away from the back garden to look at her, she admired the way his warrior costume fit him in all the right places, and the way his green eyes positively glowed in the dying sunlight from outside. _He's a handsome man_, Ginny thought to herself, as she took his arm and let him escort her out beyond the Burrow's protective wards. _Any witch would be glad to have him as her boyfriend. Then what's wrong with me, dreaming about some man with gray eyes?_

But she couldn't worry about such things right now, not when she had to support her father and family. The rest of them had already left, and Bill had gone with Fleur through the Floo Network because of her delicate state. "Ready?" Harry said, pulling his mask down over his glasses.

Tucking her depressing thoughts away, Ginny tied on her mask and Apparated behind him to the Ministry Ballroom, a massive annex to the main building where all the big political gatherings and parties were held. She gaped when she saw what her mother's decorators had done to the place. Two walls were lined with long white tables, upon which sat food sculptures so artistically done that Ginny would be afraid to eat anything. Wine and punch flowed in fountains from statues of water nymphs and satyrs. A quartet of musicians were tuning and preparing their instruments in one corner. Massive French doors lined three sides of the room, which opened out into an elegant art gallery skillfully lit to show off the works of the great master painters and sculptors to the best effect. It was like stepping into a fairy tale, Ginny thought, especially once she caught sight of the massive crystal chandelier that hung above them. Her mother had done a brilliant job.

"Everything looks wonderful, Molly," Arthur said to his wife, kissing the top of her head. He looked rather dashing dressed as Sir Tristan. "No one could've done it better."

Molly blushed bright red. "Oh, Arthur..." Ginny smiled and turned away. Guests had already begun arriving, though the ball would not officially begin for another twenty minutes. Elves ran around behind the refreshment tables, fulfilling requests. If things ran this smoothly for the rest of the evening, there was no doubt in Ginny's mind that her father would win the election.

* * *

"You were serious, then."

Draco looked up at the sound of Blaise's voice as he fixed a cufflink. "When am I ever not serious?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Blaise looked wonderingly at Draco's costume, a blazing-bright confection of red, orange, and gold robes, with massive feathers spouting from his beaked mask. "It's just so not _you_, mate," Blaise said honestly. "The Draco Malfoy I know would have gone as a snake or a dragon, like he always does."

Draco smirked. "Am I not allowed to be unpredictable? Merlin, I suppose I'll have to go change, won't I?"

Blaise's eyes suddenly twinkled. "I'll wager it's that woman of yours."

"Pansy? No, she doesn't have good taste like I do."

"I mean your mystery woman." Blaise sat in a chair beside the fire to warm his hands. They were waiting in a parlor at Malfoy Manor for Daphne to finish dressing. "You know you can't hide things from me, Malfoy. I know you too well."

"And I suppose you'll go and tell my mother on me."

Blaise laughed. "Oh, you of bad faith! My lips are sealed, you know that."

They sat in comfortable silence a moment or two, the only sound being a house elf dusting in the corridor, singing an odd little song under its breath. Draco's mind spun again towards the woman in his dreams, in all of her ethereal glory. But perhaps Blaise had paid closer attention in Divination than he had, and perhaps he could make something of his constant imaginings.

"She's not real," he began. He reckoned it was as good a start as any.

"Who's not real?"

"The woman."

Blaise raised his eyebrows. "The woman that you're always thinking about? Aren't you a bit too old for that kind of thing, Draco?"

He wouldn't rise to the bait. "I see her in my dreams every night," he said, staring down at the carpet beneath his feet. "Every night it's the same."

"It's not someone you know, perhaps? Someone you met years ago and have subconsciously remembered?"

"No, she's --" Draco bit his lip. Certainly, if he had ever met anyone like her, he would have known. Would have remembered her, would have fallen arse over teacup for her... "She has red hair. I don't know anyone with red hair."

Blaise looked at him strangely then. "Yes you do," he said in a low voice. "The youngest Weasley. Jenny, or whatever."

Draco brushed him off. "No, it's not her. This woman is stunningly beautiful. And besides," he remarked, half to himself, "not every redhead in the world is a Weasley."

"True, but not that it matters anyway. It's just a dream."

"Yes, well, that was what I thought at first too. But why do I have it every bloody night?"

Blaise shrugged, thoughtful. "Couldn't say. Mate, she's got to be somebody you know."

"She _isn't_," Draco insisted.

"How clear are her features?"

He called to mind the graceful curve of her throat, her high cheekbones, her sparkling eyes. He could almost see her there in the room, standing before him. "Very clear. I'd know her if I saw her in an instant."

Blaise frowned, looking concerned. "It isn't...an incubus?"

"No," Draco snapped. "The last incubus sect is in captivity in Minsk."

Blaise shrugged. "You asked my opinion, that's it. It's nothing more than a recurring dream."

His heart sank. He had been hoping that Blaise knew something about dream interpretation, knew some helpful books or spells, a whore to help him forget. "Just a dream," he repeated softly. There was nothing for it but to try to ignore her constant presence in the back of his mind.

Daphne came down from her guest room then, magnificent in her flowing green-blue robes and decorative mask. Draco and Blaise both rose to their feet. "What do you think?" she asked, twirling in her long skirts.

"Lovely," Blaise said, walking to her and kissing her on the cheek.

"You look very handsome, Daphne," Draco said, giving her a polite smile. He noticed, now, the way Blaise looked at her, as though the sun rose and set over her and all the planets were aligned to her orbit. A wedding would be announced by the end of the year; he was sure of it. Their parents would both be very pleased with the match, of course, but more than that, it would have been obvious to a blind man how in love they were.

_I want to look at a witch like that_, Draco realized with a start. _And I want her to look at me in the same way._ And he knew just as surely that he would never have that with Pansy Parkinson.

"Come on," he said, much more abruptly than he had wanted to. He made one final adjustment to his mask. "We've got a ball to crash."

* * *

Arthur had finally gotten Molly out on the floor for the dance he had promised her an hour into the ball. He had been besieged by wealthy patrons and Ministry officials before that, all wanting to know his exact platform, what his stand was on the troubles in Italy, how he felt about international cooperation. Now that their dance was over, however, he would likely have to dive right back into it.

But instead of some rich voter or official, the first person that approached him and Molly was Harry. "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," he began, looking a bit paler than normal. "Can I have a word in private?"

Arthur and Molly exchanged a look. "Certainly, dear," Molly said warmly, and she herded him and her husband out into the art gallery surrounding the ballroom, where there were fewer people milling about and they did not risk being overheard.

"Anything wrong, Harry?" Arthur asked concernedly, once they had stopped beside a bust of Nicholas Flamel.

"Oh no," Harry said quickly, fidgeting with his costume. "No, actually, it's quite the opposite." He took a deep breath. "I realize this is a very busy time for you, Mr. Weasley, but -- I wanted to have your permission to ask Ginny to marry me."

"Oh, Harry dear!" Molly cried, and she pulled him into a giant hug. "Of course you have our permission. You're like a son to us already, have been since your first year at Hogwarts."

"You'll make Ginny a happy woman, Harry," Arthur said, his eyes filling with tears. He shook the younger man's hand. "I know how much she loves you."

Harry blushed and scuffed his foot on the floor bashfully. "I hope so," he said. "I would do anything for her."

* * *

"Harry's come back," Luna said distantly.

"Oh, bother," Ginny grumbled. When he had said he needed to speak to someone, she had been secretly relieved to see him go. "Come on, follow me." She grabbed her friend's hand and dragged her to the very back of the ballroom, away from the dancing and into the thickest crowds. The ball was in full swing now, with everyone hidden carefully by their masks, and Ginny could hardly tell who was who anymore. The only reason she knew the woman behind her was Luna Lovegood was because she was dressed as a Crumple-Horned Snorkack.

"I still don't understand why you want to avoid Harry," Luna said, once they were positioned safely behind a towering plant. "Has he been infected with Gippyslinks?"

"No, Luna." Ginny rubbed her forehead and sighed. "I haven't told anyone else this so don't repeat it, but I'm thinking of breaking it off with him."

Luna's already wide eyes widened even further. "Really?"

"I'm not in love with him anymore. Actually, I don't know if I ever was." She sipped at the drink she had picked up before they hid. "I mean, I look at people like Ron and Hermione, who are so in love with each other, and I wonder why Harry and I don't act the same way. He's a lovely bloke, and I love him just as much as any of my brothers. But romantically...there was never a real spark between us, you know?"

"Playing with fire will get you burned," Luna said in a singsong voice.

"But -- oh, never mind." Ginny frowned grumpily. "You don't understand."

"No, I do." Luna twisted a lock of her blonde hair around her finger. "You're comfortable with Harry, since you've been together for so long. But you want something more exciting."

"Yes," Ginny agreed, her eyes bright in the soft glow of the ballroom. "I want romance. I want passion. I want to be so swept off my feet they'll never touch the floor again. And as wonderful as Harry is, he's not it for me. Not the way Ron is it for Hermione, or my dad is it for my mum."

Luna smiled serenely. "I'm sure you'll find him. If someone as clueless as Ronald can stumble into his soul mate, you can too." Ginny laughed.

* * *

Ron pulled away from ogling Hermione long enough to return his attention to the group of people around his father. Even though he was officially off-duty, and Arthur hadn't expressed any concerns about security, Ron had taken it upon himself to keep an eye on the wizards and witches that approached him that night. _You never know when someone will go completely nutters and start hexing people_, he reasoned.

Hermione had seen through his odd desire to stay near his parents immediately. "That's so sweet of you, Ron," she had murmured in his ear. Ron had then wondered if there were any closets nearby. "So thoughtful and considerate."

"You're not going to tell me I'm being paranoid or overprotective?" he teased.

"Well, you are, but --"

Ron laughed and hugged her closer to his side.

He had thought that nothing could dull his mood. Molly had just whispered to him that Harry was planning to ask Ginny to marry him, his father was making an excellent impression on the other Ministry officials, and Hermione thought he was being admirable. The ballroom looked perfect, Hermione looked beautiful, and the food was delicious.

That all sank away when he heard an all-too-familiar voice behind him.

"...no one was hurt in the exchange, so I've heard," the man was saying to a portly wizard when Ron turned. He wore a brilliant red-gold phoenix costume that looked ridiculously expensive. "Still, I cannot apologize enough for their actions. They were absolutely inexcusable."

"I'm glad we can see eye-to-eye on this unfortunate matter, Mr. Malfoy," the older wizard said. "Hopefully we can sweep this all under the carpet and carry on."

"My wishes exactly, Minister Brophy," Malfoy said, slightly inclining his head. He was nearly unrecognizable in his costume, though now that Ron studied him, he could see a glimpse of his ash blonde hair, curling slightly around the collar of his robes.

Hermione had turned when Ron did, and saw Malfoy too. Her arm tightened around Ron's. "Don't you dare," she hissed.

"He doesn't have any right to be here!" Ron hissed back, spinning around and glaring at her. "The Weasley-Malfoy blood feud is still very real, Hermione. I can't just ignore it or him."

"Then it'll be no better than what happened in Diagon Alley," Hermione said, "a pointless battle where people get hurt and nothing is solved." Her eyes softened, and she looked up at him pleadingly. He could never resist her when she gave him that look. "Please, Ron. Everything has been going so wonderfully so far. Don't ruin it for your dad."

Ron hemmed and hawed for as long as he dared. Malfoy was a businessman, he told himself, and a wealthy voter just like a whole lot of other guests there. And he wasn't causing trouble or hurting anyone. With difficulty, he accepted that he could afford to let him go this once, and he clenched his jaw and nodded to Hermione. The amazing bouncing ferret would be borne, but only for tonight.

"Thank you," she said, and she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "It means a lot to me, Ron."

"I know it does." He took a drink from his glass and resolved not to think about Malfoy anymore.

* * *

Kissing arse, as Blaise so quaintly liked to put it, was harder than it looked. Draco had been all go right from the moment the three of them arrived at the Ministry annex, placating the necessary people, saying all the necessary things, making the necessary promises. It wasn't until Blaise brought him champagne that he realized how parched he was.

"Thanks, mate," he said, and downed the entire tumbler. "I needed that."

"Really? Couldn't tell." Blaise nodded to someone in passing and turned back to him. "I think you've done it, Draco," he said. "Another crisis averted."

"Now will you let me kill that idiotic lot? Or at least maim them, please."

Blaise laughed richly. "As amusing as that would be to watch, I doubt I could let you send yourself to Azkaban for so petty a crime."

Draco smirked. "I suppose you're right."

"Again, please. I love hearing you say that."

Before Draco could shoot back any snarky comments, Kingsley Shacklebolt climbed up to the podium at the front of the ballroom and commanded everyone's attention. "Ladies and gentlemen," he cried, his voice booming even without the help of the Sonorous Charm, "first of all, I'd like to thank you for coming..."

"I saw Pansy arrive with Montague about fifteen minutes ago," Blaise muttered in Draco's ear. "She was looking for you."

"Probably wants to make me jealous," Draco returned. "The chit will never understand, will she?"

"If only I could say that I had women fighting for me," Blaise said dryly. "Merlin, I'd never be alone at night."

Daphne had overheard his last comment, and she playfully slapped his shoulder. "You never _are_ alone at night, Blaise darling," she said, smiling. Draco's heart clenched painfully as he watched Blaise grin back at her and raise her hand to his lips.

The ball-goers started applauding then so Draco joined in, not sure what he was clapping for until he saw the Weasley patriarch climbing the steps to the podium and shaking hands with Shacklebolt. "Thank you, thank you everybody," Weasley said, nodding at the crowds. "When I first learned that I had been nominated..."

"Are you going to vote for him?" Blaise said once his attention was diverted from Daphne again. "Weasley, that is."

Draco snorted. "Tell me, what is it that you don't understand about the words 'ancient blood feud'?"

"Really --"

"I would sooner elect Voldemort to be Minister than support the man whose family has hated mine for a thousand years." When it looked like Blaise was about to say something more, Draco turned away to get another drink from the refreshment table.

A flash of brightest red caught his eye. His heart rose as he focused on it.

And that was when he saw her.

He forgot how to breathe for one long, dazed moment, for he was so occupied with what he was seeing that nothing else mattered. Arthur Weasley's voice sank away, Blaise and Daphne beside him faded to black. The ballroom became a hazy cavern, his eyes tunneling through its uncertain geography so that there was only her before him, shimmering like an ephemeral star. He had sworn to himself that she couldn't be real, sworn so often that he had more than half convinced himself of it being the truth. And yet there she stood, her wondrous red hair cascading down her shoulders and shining in the candlelight, her milky skin smooth and perfect. It was her. It was _her_.

She lowered her chin a little then, and her red lips spread in a wide smile at whatever her companion had said. Draco inhaled sharply, intoxicated with happiness and lust and ...fear. She could be married. She could be not of age yet. She could love another. She could --

Blaise nudged his elbow. "Are you quite all right, Draco?"

He blinked several times to see if he was dreaming again, but no -- she was still there, and now she was tilting her head back to drink her wine, exposing her pale throat. "Fine, I'm --" His words tripped over one another in his haste. "If Pansy comes looking for me tell her she can shag whomever she pleases, though I thought she had higher standards than Montague. And don't wait for me after the ball."

"Pressing appointment?" Blaise asked, but Draco didn't hear him. He was already gone from his side.

* * *

Arthur's speech was going extraordinarily well, Ginny thought, even though she knew nothing about politics. Everyone laughed when they were supposed to, and all the faces around her were turned in attentive silence towards him. Her father was a captivating speaker -- though perhaps his obsessive practicing that week had something to do with it.

"Ron and Hermione just ducked out of the ballroom," said Luna, ever-observant. "Maybe they found a closet."

"Oh, ew." Ginny twisted her nose. "I don't need to think about my own brother snogging, thank you very much."

"You're right, sorry," Luna said, scanning the crowds. "Oh look, there's Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass, over by the caviar sculpture of Wendelin the Weird."

Ginny looked at her in amazement. "How on earth can you tell who people are with masks on? I don't even know who that is standing next to us."

"It's easy." Luna blinked at her as though Ginny had just admitted to being a few cards short of a deck. "The masks only cover their eyes."

"Easy for you, you mean." They listened with mild interest to Arthur Weasley's speech at the front of the room. Ginny knew she should be paying better attention, especially since it was her father up there, but she couldn't force herself to like politics. In all honesty, she found them rather boring. It was far more fascinating to watch Fred and George set up the indoor fireworks they had developed, which they would set off after Arthur's speech.

"Blaise and Daphne must be seeing each other. I didn't know that."

"Why do you care?" Ginny noticed that she'd drunk all of the wine in her glass.

"I used to have a bit of a crush on Blaise."

Ginny's eyes bugged at that. "You -- and _Zabini_?"

Luna ducked her head and giggled helplessly. "I know," she said. "But come on, he_is_ drop dead gorgeous, isn't he?"

"Where are they standing?"

"Right over there." Ginny followed Luna's pointing finger to a man along one side of the room, dressed convincingly as a pirate captain, from the tricorn hat with the skull and crossbones on his head down to the tarnished brass buckles on his leather boots. He did cut a dashing figure, Ginny would admit. Hanging on his arm was Daphne Greengrass, more identifiable to Ginny by her long, shimmery brown hair and willowy figure, dressed as a nymph.

"All right," she said. "Blaise is good looking. I don't blame you."

The ballroom erupted in cheers and accolades then, and by the satisfied look on Arthur's face Ginny reckoned that he had ended his speech. She started clapping loudly, as did Luna, excitement bubbling within her. "Thank you all," Arthur cried over the tumultuous noise. "I now formally declare that I, Arthur Weasley, am running for Minister of Magic!" That was Fred and George's cue. Moments later the ballroom filled with fireworks, exploding from two rows on either side of the crowd, and flowers and stars of every color burst in the middle of the air. The applause went on, as the assembled witches and wizards gazed appreciatively at the twins' handiwork.

Ginny felt a hand touch hers, a light, hesitant touch that sent her immediately towards thoughts of her dream lover. Her heart skipped a beat. Her fingers twitched against his. _It's only Harry, _she thought, trying to remain realistic, _he's found me._

She turned to him with a sliver of hope, just as a brilliant blue rocket set off behind her and showered the room with sparks of light. The fireworks shone in his eyes and illuminated them, giving the illusion that they were lit from within. He had pushed back onto his head a beaked phoenix mask, hiding his hair, but his face, at last, was wonderfully clear. She could only stare, her mouth open slightly in shock, at a vision come to life, for he was more handsome than she had dared hope. His skin was pale and flawless, his lips thin but sensuous, the kind that she thought would easily turn up in a smile.

But his eyes. Oh, Merlin, his eyes.

His gray eyes.

It was him.


	4. Holy Palmers

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Three - Holy Palmers**

"_My only love sprung from my only hate!"_

Ginny reached up with her hand, the hand that wasn't holding his, and touched his cheek. His eyelashes fluttered and he turned and pressed a kiss to her palm, leaving a burning mark on her skin. He was real, solid, standing before her. He was no longer just a wistful dream.

Somehow, she regained the power of speech and intelligent thought. Her voice, though she had tried to sound light and unconcerned, came out a breathy murmur. "You are so familiar to me..."

A shy, uncertain smile crept across his face. "I don't suppose I need to use some clever pick-up line, then?" he murmured. "I was never any good at coming up with them anyway."

Ginny tilted her head back and laughed. There was a strange giddy feeling inside her -- like nothing could go wrong, like her dreams were coming true. "You were going to try to pick me up? What if I had come with someone else?"

"I don't think you did."

"Why not?"

He took the hand he held and brought it to his lips. "Because he's not here hanging on your every word, not straying more than a few feet from you --"

His words shot straight to her belly, and Ginny wondered if the temperature had gone up or if it was just her. "I thought you said you couldn't come up with good pick-up lines," she said breathlessly.

"Maybe I lied," he murmured, gazing deep into her eyes. There was something familiar about them, beyond having seen them in her dreams. She had seen them for _real_, meaning that she had crossed paths with this beautiful stranger before.

"What's your name?" Ginny blurted.

His response was a dry chuckle. "I hardly think it would be in the spirit of things to tell you my name," he said. "This is a masquerade, after all."

"You're not wearing your mask," she pointed out.

"Would you rather I was?"

"No!" she said. Then, turning bright red in embarrassment, she amended, "I mean, no, I want to see your face. Er, I mean --"

"Are you willing to take your mask off?" he asked, his lips quirking with amusement.

Instead of answering, Ginny gently removed her hand from his and untied her silver mask. He gasped, quietly, so quietly she thought she might have imagined it. The mask slipped away, and she placed it in the narrow pocket in her skirts with her wand, wondering why she suddenly felt so exposed. "Is that better?" Ginny said.

"Much better," he said, his eyes darting all over her face. He swallowed visibly. "I take back what I said before."

She blinked. She could barely remember the first thing she had said to him. "What did you say?"

"That I thought you had come alone. I don't see how you could have now."

She held her breath. Was it going to scare him away, if she told him she did have a date? And what if he knew her date was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Didn't Die Through Sheer Dumb Luck? "W-why not?" Her voice was barely above a whisper now.

He didn't answer at first, and instead studied her face with such care she thought he must be memorizing it, tucking it away in some secret part of his brain. "Because," he said at last. "Because beautiful witches like you don't go alone to balls like this. Beautiful witches like you can have any wizard they want."

"And what about you?" Ginny said, struggling with all her might to keep the shaking from her voice. "Do you have a date?"

"No."

"I don't either," she lied.

"Then that works out perfectly, doesn't it?" He smirked, and again, there was something _so familiar_ about it... "Seeing as how I was trying to pick you up earlier. I'd hate to have to get into a duel for your honor with a jealous boyfriend."

Guilt pricked at her heart, but she smothered it. "Are you still trying to pick me up?" she said boldly.

"Desperately. Tell me, is it working?"

She was weightless. She almost looked down to see if her feet were touching the ground. "It's working quite well," she said. _When did you get so aggressively flirty, Ginevra Weasley?_ "Keep it up and who knows what might happen?"

"Indeed." He brushed a runaway curl behind her ear, and his long, thin fingers left a tingling trail across her cheek. "Because really, it's the oddest thing."

She played along. "Yes?"

"Since laying eyes on you, my head has been filled with just one thought."

The musicians in the corner started playing another song, and the sound was so unexpected that Ginny finally noticed that the world had not, after all, gone away, but was still very much present. She watched as Fleur tried to drag Bill out onto the dance floor, but he was arguing with her. Probably about how she was too pregnant to do anything but waddle. She turned her gaze back to her dream lover's and found that his was on her lips. Ginny had a pretty good idea of what his one thought was now.

A thrill of pure anticipation ran down her spine, unlike anything she had ever felt before. He thought she was beautiful. He wanted to kiss her. And that alone was enough to make her forget that Harry was there, in the very same room; that she had been dating Harry for five years; that Luna was standing just behind her. That she didn't even know who this man was. A strange feeling had filled her, strange and wonderful. She had woken from her dreams feeling this way, her hips straining towards her ethereal lover in need, her entire body humming with longing in a way that Harry could never recreate.

He was ethereal no more.

He reached up and brushed the knuckles of his fingers against her cheek, and Ginny trembled. Wordlessly, she nodded, giving him permission for his unasked question. He licked his lips in response and she nearly came undone, but he was there helping support her weight, one hand tangled in the russet curls at the back of her neck, the other at her waist. Her arms had, of their own volition, snaked up and around his shoulders, drawing him ever closer.

When their lips were but a hairsbreadth away, and she could feel his hot breath on her face, he paused and looked directly into her eyes without any trace of his earlier wit. Ginny, unable to wait any longer, closed the distance between them.

If her dreams had been almost unbearable in the amount of desire they had created, his kiss was a thousand times moreso. His hand at her waist pressed her against him, crushing their bodies together. Her body was on fire, spiraling outwards from the point where her lips touched his, and she felt like she was falling, or floating in the middle of the air. He moaned hungrily, and the sound vibrated through her, down into her fingers and toes. With his tongue he delicately traced her lips, and she gladly opened them to him, allowing him to caress her mouth. The extraordinary heat between them reached feverish heights and Ginny knew she had never been kissed like this before, like the world had shrunk until it included only the two of them, like she was the only thing on his mind at that moment.

"Ginny."

Over the rushing sound in her ears and the mindlessness caused by the touch of his hands there came a voice, so awkward in its irrelevance that it jolted Ginny forcibly out of her daze. She pushed away from him, eyes wide, wondering what had just happened.

Someone tugged on her arm, and she turned blankly to see Luna there, looking worried. "We have to go. Harry's headed right for us."

"Harry," Ginny whispered. It took her a moment to remember who he was exactly.

"Harry?" The gray-eyed man's hands dropped away from her, and she nearly cried out in protest. "Harry Potter?"

"Yes, Harry Potter," Luna said to him calmly, as though he hadn't just been snogging the hell out of her best friend. "Sorry Draco, but we can't stay."

"Draco?" Ginny looked up at him, her mind still blank, wondering what on earth Luna was doing calling him that name. But then, as though a veil had been lifted, she recognized those gray eyes and remembered. She remembered that smirk, that slightly pointed nose, that too-pale skin.

She had just kissed Draco Malfoy. She had just kissed Draco Malfoy and _liked _it.

All the heat that had coursed through her veins just seconds before turned to ice instantaneously. Ginny clapped her hands over her mouth and stepped away, eyes brimming with tears. He was eyeing her with the same confused interest, and she saw the moment he realized who she had to be.

"Weaslette," he sneered, and when he reached up and took his mask off of his head she saw for the first time that night his long ash blonde hair. "Fancy meeting you here."

"You took advantage of me!" Ginny said, her voice hoarse.

He frowned darkly at her. "I assure you, it wasn't my intention to chat up a blood traitor like yourself."

"Bollocks!" Ginny cried, making Luna gasp beside her. "This is part of some sick scheme you have to get at Harry, I know it is!"

He lunged forward and grasped her arm, enraged. "How _dare_ you make assumptions about --"

"Draco," Luna said evenly, as she tugged Ginny out of his clutches. "Let's just forget this all happened and go our separate ways."

Malfoy glared at her. "Best idea you've ever had, Lovegood," he spat. With one last, long look at Ginny, he let go and vanished into the crowd.

The tears spilled over onto her cheeks once he was gone. "You knew?" Ginny whispered, wiping at her eyes. "You knew it was him and you didn't tell me?"

"I didn't realize he had gray eyes," Luna said thoughtfully, as she led her in the opposite direction. "I've never been close enough to him to tell they weren't blue." Ginny caught a glimpse of Harry not fifty feet away. She wondered if he had seen Malfoy near them. "It wouldn't have changed anything," Luna went on. "You wanted to know who the gray-eyed man was in your dreams. You've found him now, haven't you?"

Ginny nodded miserably. How could this have happened? How could she have been dreaming about the only man in the whole world that she couldn't have? If Harry or any of her brothers found out that she had entertained, even briefly, the thought of shagging a Malfoy, they would lock her up with the ghoul in the attic and hunt Malfoy down. And, weirdly enough, the idea of him coming to harm made her heart twist painfully.

_He's a Malfoy_, she told herself. _You've always hated him. You were born to hate him. _

Luna had been watching her carefully all this time, a small, knowing smile on her lips. "Even so," she said lightly, "Malfoy or not, from my angle that looked like quite a kiss."

And just like that, Ginny knew it didn't matter who he was, or that their families were pitted against one another in a centuries-old blood feud. The damage had been done.

When she had still been in Hogwarts, before Voldemort returned and the world grew dark, Ginny had sat and listened while the other girls in her year giggled about the boys they liked. Ginny herself hadn't been dating then -- it wasn't until her fourth year that she started having boyfriends -- but she liked to hear what the other girls talked about, hoping she could use their experience when her time came.

"But how do you know?" she had asked them once, out of frustration, after hearing them claim that their boyfriend was The One. "Is it really that easy to tell?"

Felicity Canterbury had sighed and hugged herself. "Oh Ginny," she had said. "It's hard to explain unless you've experienced it. You always know right away, as soon as he kisses you."

Malfoy had kissed her that way. His wasn't even in the same class as the other ones she had received in her life: the sloppy, unsure kiss from Neville Longbottom after the Yule Ball, the kisses from Michael Corner and Dean Thomas that showed they were really only interested in one thing, or Harry's kisses, which were too respectful and delicate. Oh, but Malfoy's kiss... Ginny touched her lips thoughtfully. It had blown all the others away.

She looked at Luna and found her friend smiling at her. "Merlin, Luna," she breathed. "He's..."

"Ginny! There you are!" Harry appeared on the other side of a group of Ministry officials. He wove his way through the crowds to their side. "I've been looking for you. Wasn't your dad's speech great?"

Ginny forced a smile. "Yes. And Fred and George's fireworks were even better." She took his arm when he offered it to her, and the three of them started towards the other side of the ballroom, where most of her family was assembled.

She found herself looking, all the while, for a head of ash blonde hair.

* * *

Draco slammed against the wall in the art gallery, trying without success to slow his racing heart and erratic breathing. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, unwilling to think yet about what had just happened, but he could no more avoid it than he could ignore his own hand.

It had been like a dream when he first approached her. If there had been any doubts in his mind that she was the one, they were erased the moment he gazed into her brown eyes. He had clung to his self-control by the skin of his teeth when she touched him, for it was as though all his senses had been heightened, his nerves hypersensitive. How did she have this power over him, the power to reduce him to almost nothing? What did she have that no other woman did, that made him never want to leave her? Draco hated having vulnerabilities and had always done his best to eradicate them, but it seemed he was completely lost when it came to her.

It only got worse when he realized the woman of his dreams was none other than Ginny Weasley.

"Mate?"

Draco jumped, startled, and opened his eyes to see Blaise standing before him sans Daphne, a concerned look on his face. "You look like you've just seen your father."

"Yeah." He ran a shaking hand through his hair, unmindful of whether he mussed it up. "I -- yeah."

Blaise raised his eyebrows incredulously. "Merlin, what happened? I want to give them a prize for flapping the unflappable Draco Malfoy."

"You were right, Blaise," he said, ignoring the jab. "I should have listened to you before."

There was silence a moment, as Draco waited for Blaise to say something and Blaise waited for Draco to explain himself. "Well," he said at last. "As much as I enjoy being told I'm right, I also like to know _how_ I'm right."

"It was Weasley. Ginny. The -- woman." Draco finally regained control of his lungs, and released a deep breath. "My dreams of the redhaired woman were of her."

"And she's here tonight," Blaise said slowly. Draco could almost see him fitting the pieces together. "You caught up with her, didn't you?"

He gave Blaise a dry smirk. "Caught up with her, snogged her senseless, however you'd like to put it."

"You snogged the daughter of your mortal enemy?"

"Yes, well." He coughed into his fist, more embarrassed than he would ever let on. "We hadn't gotten to proper introductions yet," he said stiffly.

Blaise snorted. "Now you know who she is. Any idea why on earth you were dreaming of a blood traitor?"

Draco bristled at hearing her called that. "Haven't the slightest," he said mildly. "I suppose she could have cast some sort of spell over me, but I really don't know."

"You were far too concerned with snogging her to think about it." Blaise shifted to the side to look into the ballroom, then moved back. "You know that you can't be with her."

Draco sighed. "I realize that. All too well."

"You're my best mate, Draco, for reasons even I can't figure out." Blaise was very solemn of a sudden, staring up at him with dark, serious eyes. "I won't let you do this thing when she's got about a hundred older brothers who would love an excuse to rip you limb from limb."

"Six," he said absently, a sinking feeling in his chest. "She's got six brothers."

"Besides, aren't there rules in place? I confess I don't know a whole lot about blood feuds."

Draco shrugged, and shifted against the wall until he was more comfortable. "No one does," he said. "Ours is the only one still standing, and it's so old no one knows how to end it."

"Regardless," Blaise said, waving his hand through the air. "It's no slur on your abilities with a wand -- which are substantial -- but in a fight with you versus the Weasley boys I'd have to put my money on them."

Draco pushed off of the wall and moved into one of the doorways that led back into the ballroom. Without even trying or thinking about it, his eyes found her immediately in the crowd. She was arm-in-arm with Potter, who was paying her no heed while he spoke to Granger and the Weasel King. As if his gaze were a tangible thing, only seconds went by before she had turned and looked right at him.

"I can understand the allure of another woman," Blaise was saying. "Compared to Pansy, even Millicent Bulstrode comes out looking better."

She wasn't crying anymore. Draco could remember how it had been like a punch to the gut to see tears in her eyes, because of him. No, her eyes were dry, and she was looking at him and not turning away. Hope blossomed within.

"I don't suppose Milly is your type, though," Blaise said, a frown in his voice. "I think I heard that she recently -- er, what's the term the Muggles use? 'Came out of the closet'?"

Ginny looked pointedly at the entrance hall, the small antechamber that connected the ballroom annex to the Ministry proper, then looked back. Draco's heart beat a bit faster. She wanted to meet with him. Was she going to take back what she had said about him taking advantage of her?

"Not that there's anything wrong with that," Blaise said quickly. "Milly's a nice girl. I just don't think she broke any bloke's heart by revealing she's a lesbian. Not exactly a pin-up, that one."

He nodded in Ginny's direction, and loved the small smile that graced her lips. "Blaise?" Draco said.

"Yes?"

"Do shut up, will you?"

Blaise came around to his side, peering carefully into his face. "You're thinking up something that's going to get some people killed, aren't you," he said blandly.

"I've left the ball, if anyone asks," Draco said. "I have an early meeting tomorrow I have to get up for."

"I hate lying for you, you know," Blaise complained. "Especially for your trysts."

Draco clapped him on the back. "What would I do without you, Zabini?"

"I just hope you know what you're getting into, _Malfoy_," Blaise said warningly.

"I'll see you around." Draco glanced once more at Ginny and made his way out of the ballroom, leaving Blaise shaking his head.

* * *

Her heart pounded in time with her footsteps as she made her way through the dark halls of the Ministry. She had intended for him to go just outside the annex, but when she arrived there he was nowhere to be found. Ginny had passed Luna on her way out, chatting with George and Fred, and Luna had thrown her a discreet wink. Ginny had grinned happily back, before rushing out of the ballroom, skirts in hand to keep from tripping.

She made it all the way to the Ministry entrance hall without seeing him, and now she was frowning as she wondered where he had gone. Had he misunderstood her? Maybe when she saw him leave the ballroom he had actually just left and gone home? The hallway from the ballroom, since it was on the second floor, opened up onto the entrance hall in a series of archways with guard rails. It was when she stepped forward under one of those arches, her hand on the railing, that she saw Malfoy standing on the first floor of the hall, gazing at the restored fountain at its center. He turned his head and looked up at her.

She could not rightly say what emotion came over her as soon as his eyes were on her, only that her heart seemed to skip a beat, and her breath stuck somewhere between her lungs and lips. _This is it_, she thought. _This will decide whatever I do in the immediate future._

He took a step towards her.

"I'll come down to you," she said, and she made her way to the rickety elevator. The elevator had always been slow, for as long as Ginny could remember visiting her father at work as a girl, but never before had she wanted to curse it to oblivion the way she did now.

When the elevator doors opened finally, Malfoy was standing not twenty paces away, his gaze fixed on hers. She stepped into the hall and the doors clanged shut behind her. "Hello," Ginny said awkwardly.

"I want to get at least one thing clear between us," Malfoy said, his eyes and face flat and emotionless. "When I kissed you it was not with the intention of taking advantage of you, nor of getting to Potter."

She released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Good. That's...good to know. But -- then why _did_ you? You are aware --"

"Yes yes, the blood feud," he said shortly. He looked away and clasped his hands behind his back. "I am going to be honest: I didn't know it was you."

Ginny snorted. "Oh. And I suppose the bright red hair wasn't a big enough clue."

"Why does everyone insist that all redheads are Weasleys?" Malfoy snapped. "My aunt Andromeda is a redhead, and she's a Black."

"All right, fine," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "So what would have happened if I wasn't who I was? What were your intentions?"

He gave her a lascivious sneer. "The evening would have ended at my flat. The bedroom, to be specific."

Normally, Ginny would have been aghast at such blatant sexuality; it was the prude in her that she had inherited from her mother. That was normally. At Draco's words, however, heat pooled in the pit of her stomach and her knees wobbled. She was incredibly turned on and not afraid to show it. "Is that --" She hesitated, licking her lips. "Is that a promise?"

He took several strides towards her, as though he was going to pin her against the closed elevator doors, but he ground to a halt halfway, clenching his fists. "I've answered enough questions," he declared. "What about you? Why were you so eager to flirt with me, now that I know you came tonight with Scarhead?"

Ginny stepped forward. "What upsets you more, that I came with Harry or that I lied about it?"

"One would almost think you didn't really want to be with Potter," he said, moving forward a few steps. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but if two people are dating they don't usually avoid one another at social gatherings."

Ginny folded her arms and looked away. "Ah, touched a nerve, I see," Draco went on, smirking. "Could it be there's trouble in paradise? The great Harry Potter's girlfriend can't stand to be near him?"

"You're one to talk," she shot back at him, eyes flaring in her temper. "What's this I've heard about you having to marry Pansy Parkinson? Set a date yet, Malfoy?"

"Can you blame me for wanting to have a bit of fun before I'm chained to that dog?" Malfoy drawled. "Have you looked at Pansy lately?"

Ginny threw back her head and laughed. "What a loss to the dating world it will be, the day Draco Malfoy gets married."

He raised an eyebrow. "You'd miss me, wouldn't you, Weasley."

"Don't flatter yourself," she said, stepping forward.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Which was what?" She remembered perfectly well what it was, but his nearness was doing strange things to her pulse, and she didn't want to quite think about anything else yet.

He closed the distance between them and touched, just barely, her parted lips with the tips of his fingers. Ginny suddenly couldn't breathe. "You kissed me back when I kissed you," he said, and his voice had altered subtly. It was more like it had been when he was still nameless to her, a man in a vision. "I know you did."

She wanted, needed, to return them to their argument and their angry words, because that was normal, the status quo. One good sarcastic comment, she knew, and everything would be back the way it was supposed to be. Not like this, not this butterflies-in-the-stomach way, when he looked at her as though he had never seen anyone so beautiful. The way he was looking at her now.

She couldn't go through with it. Not when she felt more alive than she had in years.

"I have a boyfriend, Draco," she whispered.

"And I have an intended," he said. A smirk ghosted across his mouth. "I win."

"It doesn't bother you?" she pressed, searching his face. "We're supposed to be mortal enemies... or something. My brothers would murder you six different ways if they knew."

"Who said we would let them know?"

Ginny was shocked at the impact of his words, and when his fingers moved from her lips to her jaw her eyelids became too heavy to hold up. _Who needs to know indeed_, she thought recklessly, as she clung to his red-gold tunic.

"There wouldn't be any repercussions, would there?" she said. "From the blood feud?"

His hand stopped what it was doing. "I wouldn't know," he said. "I don't think so."

"Then what did you have in mind?" Ginny said, opening her eyes.

Draco bent his head, his hair brushing against her cheek. When she felt his lips brushing that magic spot on her throat she thought she would die. "Anything," he said. "Everything. Something that includes me and you being together as often as possible."

Ginny buried her fingers in his hair, breathing in the cool, airy scent of him. "Yes," she sighed.

"You've grown up a good deal since I last saw you, Ginny Weasley," he murmured, moving his lips again. He pushed back the strap of her toga and brushed a kiss to her shoulder. "I want to see just how much you've changed."

She was on fire, about to be consumed in the heat of her own arousal. "I don't care what they'd say," she whispered in his ear, her lips touching the delicate outer shell. "Even if they found out, I don't care. I don't care."

He hummed against her skin, and the sound resonated in her very bones. "I'm glad we're finally on the same page," he said, right before he kissed her again.

There was no doubt in her mind at all now. Felicity Canterbury and the other Gryffindor girls had been right: the kiss said absolutely everything. Unlike their first kiss, when her desire had spiked rapidly, this one was slow, luxuriant, wonderful. She would never kiss another man again if she knew every one of Draco's would be like this.

Just as Ginny was starting to worry that someone might be missing her, the echoes of casual conversation echoed forth and reached the entrance hall. Ginny, her head resting on Draco's chest as she regained her breath, saw that the dark hallway by which she had come was now lit. The masquerade had ended. In just a few more moments they would be caught.

She looked up at him. "Draco --"

"When can I see you again?" he said, his silver eyes boring straight through her.

"I -- I don't know. I'll send Luna to you when I do. I don't trust the owl post."

"Good." He glanced up at the hallway briefly. "And once more for good luck." He bent his head and kissed her one last time, and before Ginny could even blink away her shock he had darted into the nearest fireplace and Floo'd out of sight.


	5. Enemies Allied

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Four - Enemies Allied**

"_...this alliance may so happy prove/ To turn your households' rancour to pure love."_

The next morning, the return of the rising sun brought with it the return of reality. She had been too tired to close the curtains so sunlight poured into the room, waking her up gradually. Ginny lay in her bed while the last vestiges of sleep sank away, and in less than a minute she remembered that she had snogged Draco Malfoy and promised she would see him again to...well, probably snog some more. Among other things.

A giggle escaped her lips before she clamped a hand over her mouth. She grinned like a fool at the ceiling above her, and wondered what he was doing at that very moment. If he was still asleep perhaps, with his ash blonde tousled and curling at the nape of his neck. If he preferred sleeping on his stomach or his back. Or maybe he was awake and thinking of her, as he drank his morning coffee.

_This is so wrong, on so many levels_, the practical part of her thought, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Hermione. _Mum and Dad would lock me away, and his mum would probably disown him, if any of them knew. And what if there's something in the blood feud that would prevent us from doing...things? Just because Draco didn't think there were any side effects doesn't mean there aren't any._ Ginny's heart sank at the thought. Stupid blood feud and the stupid curse that went along with it.

Then, before she could continue down the road of doubt and uncertainty, there arose in her mind the memory of his lips on hers, his eyes gazing deep inside her, as though he could look in on her innermost thoughts and secrets. Ginny shuddered. At that moment there was nothing she wanted more than to Floo to wherever he was just to see him.

"Good morning, Gin!"

Ginny nearly jumped out of her own skin at the sound of someone just outside her bedroom door. With a yelp, she leapt into a sitting position, the bedsheet pulled up to her neck. "Dear _Merlin_!" she cried.

The door opened partially and Harry stuck his shaggy head into the room, a sheepish look on his face. "Oh, er, sorry about that. I thought I heard you moving around and figured you were awake."

"No, it's...okay." She took a deep breath to steady herself. "What are you doing here?"

He came in the rest of the way and revealed that he was carrying a tray of food. "Thought I'd surprise you with breakfast in bed."

"Oh, how sweet of you," Ginny said with a geniune smile. Really, Harry could be ridiculously adorable when he put his mind to it. And besides, she was famished, and he knew just what she liked to eat. She sat up in bed and let him place the tray on her lap.

"Did you already eat?" she asked.

"Before I came," he said, smoothing a wrinkle in her bedspread. "I'm looking forward to seeing your parents this afternoon."

"Really?" Ginny chuckled. "We just saw them last night, Harry."

"I know, but..." He looked uncomfortable suddenly. "Well, last night was very stressful for them. I prefer seeing them when they're at the Burrow, you know, just being themselves."

"I know what you mean." Ginny dug into her toast, slathered with butter and sprinkled with cinnamon. She wondered out of the blue if Draco ever took breakfast in bed like this, or if he would ever make it for her. The thought made her blush. They had kissed each other less than twenty-four hours ago, and already she was picturing them in domestic bliss!

"Gin?"

There was an anxious note in his voice, but Ginny missed it while she blew on her hot tea. "Yes, Harry?"

"Can I ask you something important?"

"Mmhm." She swallowed her mouthful of food. "Hurry though, because they're expecting us in a half hour."

He hesitated at that, biting his bottom lip uncertainly. Ginny watched him. "Yeah," Harry said finally, exhaling a deep breath. "I'll ask you some other time. I'll let you finish breakfast and get dressed."

She frowned. "Harry, if it's important --"

"No no, it can wait." He stood and kissed her forehead. "Don't be too long." With a smile, he slipped out of the room silent as a cat.

She smiled sadly when she saw how light he was on his feet still, even though the war had ended six years ago. They had all had to learn special skills, like tracking and concealment, particularly by the end of the war when both sides had gotten desperate from the rising casualties. Harry had been at his best then, she remembered, fiercely determined to put a stop to Voldemort once and for all.

But thinking about Voldemort got Ginny thinking, of course, of Draco. Even now his position in wizarding society was tenuous. He had the Dark Mark, one of only two branded wizards to escape imprisonment in Azkaban, but he claimed to have left Voldemort's service shortly after his failed attempt to kill Dumbledore and had not participated in any Death Eater activities afterwards. Draco had gone to the Malfoy summer estate in Marseilles and waited out the fighting there with his mother, Narcissa.

Ginny sighed and leaned back into her pillows, breakfast forgotten. How could it have slipped her mind that he had the Dark Mark, and always would? Hermione, who worked for the Department of Mysteries, had once revealed they they were trying to come up with some spell or potion to remove it, but they had had absolutely no luck so far. Draco would never be fully accepted by the wizarding world, let alone by her family, simply because of a temporary lapse of judgment made when he was only sixteen years old.

Harry's voice came from the other room. "Gin? Your parents' house?"

"Right, I'm moving." She picked her wand up off the bedside table and with a wave sent her breakfast tray to the kitchen.

They arrived together at the Burrow at noon, and the place was already buzzing with activity. Bill and Fleur's sons Philippe and Mathieu, who were the spitting image of their father, ran around in the back garden with Daniel, Percy's son, while Fleur and Fred's wife Angelina sat together in the shade and talked.

"We've been trying everything," Angelina was saying sadly to her sister-in-law. "The Healers say there's nothing wrong with either of us --"

"Never give up 'ope," Fleur said stoically, clasping Angelina's coffee-colored hand in her own. "Zere is nossing more wonderful zan 'aving children of your own."

"Uncle Harry, Uncle Harry!" Ginny and Harry turned just in time, for otherwise Dan and Mathieu would have bowled them over. "Aunt Ginny!"

"Hello, little monsters!" Ginny said, laughing, and they hugged her nephews before going into the house. Molly was in the kitchen with Luna and Penelope, in her element as she directed them how to help her work on lunch and supper.

"Yes that's very good Luna," Molly said with a nod as she checked over Luna's chopped carrots. "I thought you said you'd never used that spell before?"

Luna smiled serenely. "There's a reason why I was sorted into Ravenclaw, Mrs. Weasley," she said. Molly chuckled appreciatively and Penelope gave her a wink.

"Can I help with anything?" Ginny said, stepping forward.

"Oh, Ginny dear! I was wondering when you two would arrive." Molly turned and glanced quickly down at Ginny's hands, then wiped away her oddly disappointed look with a bright smile. "No, I think Luna and Penelope can handle this, can't you girls?"

"Yes Mrs. Weasley," Luna said.

"I've _told_ you, please call me Molly," she said, smiling at Luna fondly. "I'd ask you to call me 'Mum,' but George is taking his sweet time asking you to marry him, isn't he?"

An uncharacteristic blush stole across Luna's face. "Not for my lack of pushing him," she said shyly.

Since she was not needed in the kitchen, Ginny headed outside to sit with Fleur and Angelina; Harry went to join the heated Quidditch game they both could see in the distance.

"Are Charlie and Hestia coming?" Ginny asked Angelina.

"No, they sent their regrets," Angelina said. "They sent Andrew over so he could play with his cousins, but he's taking a nap right now. One of Charlie's dragons came down with the Bavarian flu and they both stayed to care for it."

"In 'er state!" Fleur cried, a hand pressed over her extended belly. "Hestia must be more careful or she will lose _son_ _enfant_!"

"She's only three months along," Angelina assured her. "And Charlie always takes care of her. Oh, and Ron and Hermione should be here in any moment, while we're talking about who's here and who's not."

"Zoes two," Fleur said, smiling happily. "Zey remind me of me and Bill, just after we were married."

"They're just so cute, the two of them," Angelina agreed. "I remember I had to force Fred to make an Unbreakable Vow so he wouldn't ruin the ceremony when they got married."

"Eet's just you and George that are not married yet, _non_?" Fleur said, looking at Ginny. "When are you and 'Arry going to announce your engagement?"

Ginny squirmed uncomfortably in her seat, wishing they would change the subject. "Er..." A movement caught her eye, and she turned slightly to see that Luna had exited the house and was headed towards her. "Oh, um, I just remembered I have to tell Luna something, excuse me," she said hurriedly, and before Angelina or Fleur could get out another word Ginny had run to Luna and latched onto her arm.

"Let's go to the treehouse," Luna said, sensing the need for privacy. Ginny nodded, and they made their way past the little boys' games, far out of earshot of both the house and the Quidditch pitch. There, at the very edge of the woods that bordered one side of the Weasleys' property, sat an ancient tree with a massive trunk. Planks rose up into the dark canopy of leaves to an invisible treehouse. All kinds of words and pictures were carved into the bark: declarations of victory, initials in hearts. Smiling, Ginny traced the heart her father had carved there years and years ago: AW + MP. Not far from it was a similar one, but this one was much newer: RW + HG.

"I hope I get to carve my initials here someday," Luna said, oddly serious for once. Ginny turned and saw her eyes were shining a little. "Daddy loves George almost as much as I do."

"Oh Luna." Ginny hugged her friend tightly. "George is bonkers about you, we all can tell. We have no idea why he's waiting so long."

"I know." Luna gave her a watery smile and blinked away her tears. "Maybe he read about the Heliopath infestation in Bath, and wants to make sure it's taken care of before he asks."

"Come on." Ginny led the way up the makeshift ladder, and moments later they climbed into a treehouse so old Arthur and Molly couldn't remember who had built it. Over the years it had been reinforced with a number of spells to keep it from collapsing, but those same spells had done nothing to make it more visually appealing. Nevertheless, Ginny counted it among her favorite spots.

"You know you have to tell me absolutely everything that happened last night," Luna said, once they were settled comfortably. "When I saw you at the end of the ball, you looked thoroughly snogged."

Ginny giggled. "Oh Luna..." And she launched into a full account of their conversation in the Ministry entrance hall while her friend sat and listened.

When she had finished, Luna smiled. "Daddy said Malfoy Enterprises is doing really well these days," she said, in her dreamy voice. "Draco's made loads of money. Daddy's mad though, because he heard a rumor that Malfoy Enterprises deals with vampires and Draco won't comment."

"You know I don't care how rich he is," Ginny said. "I loved Harry before I knew he had a small fortune of his own."

"Harry," Luna said, raising her pale eyebrows. "Speaking of, how do you feel about him these days?"

Ginny sighed and scuffed her nails along a rough floor plank. "He's a dear friend. He made me breakfast in bed this morning, you know. He's so thoughtful and sweet, and... I don't know." She rubbed at her eyes. "I just don't love him the way he deserves to be loved."

"And Draco?"

The mere mention of his name was enough to bring a giddy smile to her face. "It's different with him," she said finally, after thinking it over. "I don't quite know how yet, but it is. Luna, he --" She felt her face heat, but she went on anyway. "I've never felt that way before, the way I was when I was with him. It was just...pure magic running through my whole body."

"So you might just be neck deep in lust for him."

"Luna!"

She laughed. "I'm being honest. You can't be in love with him already; you hadn't seen him since the war before last night."

Ginny paused. "I didn't tell you the last thing he said. He said he wanted to see me again. I told him I'd send you when I knew a good time."

"Ooh," Luna said, clapping her hands together, "do I get to be a part of your super secret love affair?" She stopped suddenly. "I don't know how he'd react to seeing me. Daddy's been quite persistent in following up on that vampire tip, you know."

"He didn't say anything about it, so I suppose it's all right." Ginny reached forward and grasped both of Luna's hands. "Luna," she breathed, a shy smile on her lips. "I can't wait to see him again."

Luna grinned. "When are you free?"

"Fred and George let me have Wednesdays off. I was going to visit McGonagall with Harry, but I suppose I can tell him I'm going shopping with you."

"Then it seems I might have an appointment with Mr. Malfoy tomorrow," Luna said, a mischievous sparkle in her blue eyes.

In the distance, interrupting their conversation, there came the sound of Penelope calling everyone in for lunch. Ginny and Luna shared one last secret smile before climbing down and joining the rest of the family.

* * *

At first Draco couldn't come up with a reason for inviting Snape out to lunch with him. His former professor had gone into a quiet retirement after the end of the war, since there were still those on the good side who were unaware of his pivotal role as a spy -- and Snape was too unconcerned to remedy their opinion of him. Instead, he concentrated his efforts towards Draco and fulfilling his duties as a godfather: Draco received cards on his birthday and at Christmas, and they saw each other socially every now and then. These few gestures made him more of a father figure than Lucius had ever been.

And Snape was the only one left who knew what it was like living with the Dark Mark.

"Out with it," he said, in lieu of a greeting, when Draco sat down in the seat across from him. "I want to know why I woke up this morning at an ungodly hour being pecked by your owl."

Draco smirked at the mental picture this presented. "It wasn't an ungodly hour, Severus. Lots of people get up at six in the morning."

Snape's dark eyes narrowed as he studied his godson. Their waiter arrived and Draco ordered them a bottle of wine to go with their meal, and it wasn't until the waiter was gone that Snape spoke: "You didn't sleep last night."

Draco only raised his eyebrows.

"Please, Draco. I can see right through the Freshening Charms you cast."

He shrugged in defeat. "I had too much on my mind to sleep last night. Don't tell Mother though. Every time she hears I'm not sleeping she starts pestering me about the cause."

"Should I want to know the reason for your insomnia?" Snape said. Their wine sprang into existence in the middle of the table, and he poured them each a glass "Perhaps that is why you requested my company. In fact, yes, I think that's exactly why you wanted to speak to me."

Draco could never hide things from Snape for long. He ran his hand through his hair as he wondered where to begin. Whatever Ginny had done to him, he couldn't go more than five minutes without thinking of her, as he was now: her beautiful face flashed before his eyes, framed by her soft red curls, her skin milky and smooth in the candlelight... "You know that I went to Weasley's nomination ball on Saturday night," he said.

Snape nodded. "Continue."

"I met someone there." He did his best to wipe any expression from his face and straightened in his seat. "Just thought you should know. Subsequently I'm hoping you can help me find a way to get out of the contract my parents and the Parkinsons signed promising me to Pansy."

Snape rarely ever showed what he was thinking or feeling, so when his lips tightened almost imperceptibly, Draco knew it was comparable to someone else's outraged outburst. "You 'met someone,'" he said dryly. "And this is enough to dissolve a marriage agreement that has stood for more than twenty years?"

"Yes," Draco said firmly. "My mind is set. Hell, it was set even before I met G- this woman. I absolutely refuse to marry Pansy."

"I will admit," Snape said slowly, "I never wanted you to marry her either. She is not your match in any way." He stared steadily at Draco. "Do not take that as a vote of approval for this new woman, however. She might be just as unsuitable."

_That she is_, Draco thought ruefully. "As it happens, I don't care what you think about her," he said, with a slight sneer. "I only wanted to make you aware that she exists, and know that I'm quite serious about her."

"Serious?" Snape said. "About a woman you just met two days ago? Does she know about your Dark Mark?"

Draco clenched his jaw and looked away. Their waiter returned and took their orders, and even when he had left Draco remained silent. Truthfully, Snape had voiced one of his first and deepest fears about Ginny: she certainly knew he had the Mark, since the _Daily Prophet_ had made a big deal about it when he narrowly avoided going to Azkaban, but had she simply forgotten during the masquerade? What if she remembered it afterwards, and now wanted nothing to do with him? His heart twisted painfully. _If she despised me for my foolish mistakes..._ He couldn't bear to complete the thought.

"I'm not certain," Draco said, after a long silence. "I believe she does know. But that is the least of my concerns right now."

Snape chortled, coldly amused. "It's not like you fell for Ginny Weasley, who is about as out of your reach as --" He stopped dead when Draco refused to meet his gaze. "You didn't."

Draco said nothing, only toyed with his wine glass.

Without warning, Snape had lunged across the table and grasped Draco's left arm, forcing his attention. "You're playing with fire here," he hissed, his eyes blazing. "She is a pureblood, yes, she is from a well-connected and upstanding family, yes, but things never go well when there's a blood feud tied up in the matter."

Draco sneered at him. "I can take care of myself, thanks."

"I personally would not care to see you cursed by the conditions of the feud," Snape said, his fingernails digging into Draco's arm. "It is not just some old bit of forgotten magic, it is strong, powerful, _lethal_. Your best course would be to forget Miss Weasley and thereby spare the both of you from its consequences."

He didn't know what to say to that. Forget her? He could no more forget how to breathe, or speak. The mere thought of her, as she had appeared at the ball in her flowing pale blue toga, her eyes soft and enchanting, and a wave of desire crashed over him. He closed his eyes to keep Snape's prying stare from penetrating his thoughts. It seemed, however, he was too late.

Snape's grip loosened, and he sank back into his own seat. Draco looked down at the tabletop.

When Snape spoke his voice was soft. "It seems your father did not wreak the damage he intended."

"I am nothing like my father," Draco declared.

"And I thank Merlin for that." Their food appeared on the plates before them. The next few minutes were quiet as they dug into their meals, each wrapped in his own thoughts. It was then that Draco realized, as his attention was no longer solely focused on his former professor, that they were receiving dark stares from the people around them. The restaurant, while high end and certainly not affordable for just any wizard, was relatively packed with the lunchtime business crowd, and Draco was uncomfortably aware that their table was near the center of the room. He gripped his fork too tightly. He was sick of it. Sick of it all. The war had ended six years ago, but the way they stared it seemed like only six days.

"Are you in love with her?" Snape asked abruptly.

Draco swallowed his mouthful of food before letting out a dignified snort. "I should think not," he said, not really believing himself. "She's a Weasley."

"It doesn't matter to you that, unless the blood feud is ended properly, you risk painful curses or death?"

He barely batted an eye before answering. "No."

Snape tutted under his breath. "You would do well to have more respect for your own life."

"Severus, she's --" The thousand words he could use to describe her stuck in his throat, and he could do nothing but gesture with his hands. "You're either willing to help us or you're not."

"I will help you," Snape said, albeit somewhat reluctantly. "The blood feud will have to be carefully researched before any other action is taken." He frowned at Draco. "That means you cannot share her bed."

"I can't promise that," Draco said, as the idea of making love to her sent a sharp arrow of lust straight to his groin.

Snape rolled his eyes. "You have been warned, at least. I wash my hands of that."

"Excellent." Draco threw down his napkin and got to his feet. "Well. I've got an appointment with someone at one, so I really must be going. Pleasure to see you, Severus."

"Wish I could say the same," Snape said darkly, but he shook hands with Draco nevertheless. There was a troubled look on his lined face that Draco didn't like at all, and it stayed there until he had walked out of the restaurant and was out in Diagon Alley.

Snape's question had startled him more than he would care to admit to himself. _Was_ he in love with Ginny? Draco pulled his expensive cloak a bit closer as he continued down the street, scowling at a rail-thin witch with a collection plate for the War Orphans Foundation. The poor witch squeaked when she realized who he was and couldn't get away fast enough.

He wanted her like he'd never wanted a witch before. That much he could admit, even without the concrete proof of his lust-soaked dreams and the uncanny way she had of sneaking up on him in his thoughts. But Snape had been right: there was no one more out of reach to him than her; he may as well have fallen for a star in the sky. How would they carry out a secret affair under everyone's noses and expect not to get caught? Every time they would arrange a meeting, their chances of being found out would increase drastically.

_Merlin_, he thought, bewildered by the train of his own thoughts. _I already expect that she's going to want to keep seeing me. What if all she wants is a bit of a fling before settling down with Potter?_

When he stepped into his business suite his secretary was just coming out of his private office, shutting the door behind her. She never went in there unless invited, so Draco wordlessly raised his eyebrows and waited for an explanation.

"Your one o'clock is here," she said stiffly, looking at him over the tops of her spectacles. "She insisted on sitting in your office instead of in the lobby."

"Important as all that, is he?" Draco muttered. He removed his cloak and she took it from him to hang up. "What does he want?"

"Actually," the secretary said, frowning, "_she _wouldn't say, though she said you would want very much to hear her message."

_She. Message._ He knew who it was immediately, and exactly what kind of message she bore. His heart raced in his chest, as though it would pound right out of his ribs. "Very well," Draco said, putting on a bored tone. "Clear out the rest of my afternoon. Tell them I'm sick or something. My pet snake died."

The secretary stared at him levelly. "Really, sir."

"Use your bloody imagination," he snapped, suddenly irritated. She normally didn't bother him this much, but right now she was only standing in the way of his goal. He turned and, unable to hold himself back any longer, barreled into his office, slamming the door shut behind him.

Luna barely blinked an eye at his dramatic entrance. "Hello, Draco," she said, toying with one of her radish earrings. "Lovely day, isn't it?"

"You have a message for me, I believe?" Draco perched on the edge of his desk, braced by his arms, and leaned forward. "From Ginny?"

"Yes, I do," Luna said brightly. "She told me everything, you know. She was so happy when I saw her yesterday."

Draco's heart rose into his throat, and it was a struggle to maintain his composure when all he wanted to do was smile as broadly as he could. "Was she?" he finally managed, without inflection.

"Oh yes," Luna said, nodding. "She said she can't wait to see you again."

"And when might that be?"

She gave him a sideways look. "I have to ask you something first."

Draco groaned inwardly, but indicated for her to continue.

"Ginny's my best friend," she said, very seriously. "I want to know what your intentions are with her. Because if you hurt her in any way, I might let slip something to her brothers and let them deal with it."

Draco met her eyes steadily, never wavering. "I don't know what my intentions are," he said, realizing he was being absolutely honest. "But I know that I will never willingly hurt her."

Luna seemed to ponder his answer carefully for several minutes, before smiling. "Wednesday," she said. "She doesn't work on Wednesdays, and she can rearrange her plans."

He tried not to sound too eager when he asked, "When? Where?"

"At her flat in Muggle London at two o'clock." She pulled a scrap of parchment out of her pocket and handed it to him; he felt as though he had just been given a priceless treasure. "Don't let yourself be seen. Don't tell anyone where you are."

"I'll Apparate just outside her door. Tell her to make sure her wards are all in order."

Luna threw back her head and laughed raucously. "Her brother Bill set up her wards himself," she said. "Seeing as he's the best cursebreaker in the world, you'd be safe from anything in her flat."

"What were her plans?" Draco asked, suddenly curious.

"She was going to go visit Professor McGonagall with Harry," Luna said, "but lately she's been avoiding him as much as possible."

"Good," he said, eyes flashing. Even he was surprised at the level of jealousy that reared its ugly head. He was almost literally seeing green. "I won't hear of her spending any time with him at all."

"But," Luna said, gazing dreamily off into the distance, "he's her boyfriend, and they _have_ been dating for five years..."

The thought of them together, touching, hugging, kissing, made Draco's blood boil. "Fine," he snapped. "But only enough for her to keep up pretenses."

"All right." Luna stood, brushing off her shoulders for some odd reason. "Well, I think I should probably go now."

Draco stood too. "I expect I'll be seeing a lot of you in the future?" he said, hoping against hope that this would be more than a one-night stand. "Giving me messages from Ginny, that is."

"Yes, Ginny's afraid a letter through the owl post might be intercepted. Reckon that means you'll actually have to be nice to me, Draco."

He blinked at her, startled, for several silent seconds, before he chuckled heartily. "Reckon I will," he said, grinning, and he held out his hand. She shook it with a firm grip. "Good-bye, Luna."

"Good-bye, Draco," she said, and with a solemn wink, she drifted out of the room.

For the rest of the afternoon he sat at his desk chair, gazing out at his fake window view, the parchment with Ginny's address still tightly clenched in his fingers like a lifeline. His head was curiously empty of any meaningful thoughts or ideas, merely a perfect void where he floated, weightless. He would look down at her address again, written in what he was sure was her precise, elegant handwriting, every now and then, as though expecting that the ink would vanish and he would be left with nothing but a bit of parchment. That he would wake and find this had all been a tortured dream, and she was as far away as she ever had been.

It was strange, though. Six months ago he had been so focused on running Malfoy Enterprises that little else had mattered. There were his weekly dinners with his mother at the Manor, occasional pickup Quidditch games with Blaise and the old Hogwarts gang, random shags with beautiful women that would inevitably get him plastered on the cover of every society magazine from London to Tokyo. He had been moving too fast through his life to take the time to stop and see that he wasn't happy with any of it.

Then she had come to him in his dreams, and through those into his life. And even though there had been a period of four or five years when he had barely remembered she existed, now he couldn't imagine living in a world that lacked Ginny Weasley.

The only thought that came then was _I wish Wednesday wasn't so far away._


	6. Dear Encounter

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not mine, though if JKR would like to rid herself of Draco Malfoy she need only ask.

**A/N: **Chapter Five, or, The Reason Why This Fic Is Rated M, or, Teh Sex! This chapter maybe too much for Should it be removed, I will repost and replace the racy parts with a link to another site. **Warning:** some H/G action. Although the D/G will probably make you forget it was even there... ;-)

**Chapter Five - Dear Encounter**

"_...all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay / And follow thee my lord throughout the world."_

Ginny's envy made Monday pure agony -- she hated that Luna got to see Draco and she didn't. Tuesday was awful for the mere fact it wasn't Wednesday. Both days dragged on seemingly without end, through hours of redoing Fred and George's books (they had never been terribly good at maths), dealing with snotty kids whose parents let them have whatever they wanted, and dropping none-too-subtle hints to George about Luna.

"You know, I saw Hermione showing Luna her engagement ring on Sunday," she said casually during their lunch break on Tuesday. The three of them were sitting on boxes in the storeroom, eating their food. "Luna thought the setting was very pretty."

"Wow, Gin," Fred said brightly. "If you were any less obvious you'd have a hammer in your hand."

"Wow, Fred, shove off. I was talking to the unmarried one."

George's face had turned bright red at the first mention of Luna. "I'm not the only one Mum's gone her eye on, you know," he said pointedly, not meeting her gaze. "If you and Harry don't get married and start popping out grandkids soon she might be driven to an early grave."

"Kids!" Ginny yelped. "I'm not ready to have kids yet. I'm only twenty-three, for Merlin's sake."

"But when she was twenty-three, she was already married and had Bill," Fred and George recited in synch. It was something Molly had said to Ginny many, _many_ times before.

"Well -- whatever." She waved her wand to clear away her lunch mess and stood up. "I'm headed back out to feed the Pygmy Puffs."

Luna was standing at the front of the store when she left the storeroom, gazing absently at a colorful display of the twins' number one seller, the Skiving Snackbox. Ginny hadn't been expecting to see her, so she stopped, surprised, at the end of the counter.

"Luna!" she said. "All right?"

The blonde turned towards her with a conspiratory smile on her face. "All right, Ginny. How are you?"

_Sexually frustrated and randy as hell, actually_, Ginny thought. "Just fine. Want to help me feed the Pygmy Puffs?" Luna nodded, so Ginny reached onto one of the shelves behind the counter and pulled out the bag of pellets the twins had developed for them. Together, they went to the far wall where the Puffs' cages were stacked one atop the other, and started scattering food into the cages. The tiny creatures dove for their food instantly, as though famished.

"I just thought I'd stop by and see how you were," Luna said lightly, as she watched a Puff try to shove two pellets at once into his tiny mouth. "See if you'd decided what you were going to wear tomorrow."

Ginny shivered violently and glanced back towards the storeroom. "It's not going to be like a date," she hissed, praying that Fred and George were too occupied to eavesdrop. "We can't go anywhere in public. No one will see us."

"That doesn't mean you can't look absolutely ravishing," Luna said, eyes wide. "I know I always have fun dressing up and putting on makeup when George and I go out."

"I hadn't thought about wearing anything special," Ginny admitted. It was the truth. She had been trying as hard as she could to not think about what Wednesday afternoon at two o'clock would bring. Doing so would only distract her and make her ask herself heart-stoppingly important questions, like if Draco preferred to be on top (she decided yes, after nearly going cross-eyed from naughty daydreams), or if everything on his body was long: his long legs, long arms, long fingers... (that was another yes, after more, even dirtier daydreams).

"Oh, come on, Ginny," Luna said, interrupting her gutter-worthy thoughts. "You really weren't just going to throw on any old set of robes, were you?"

"Well..."

Luna threw her hands up in the air. "What am I going to do with you, Ginny? When I saw Draco yesterday --" Ginny immediately tensed. Luna stopped, a sly look on her face. "Oh, wait, you don't care what he thinks of you, so..."

"Don't you dare tease me like that, Luna Lovegood," Ginny said, her hands shaking slightly as she resealed the bag of Pygmy Puff feed. She headed back to the counter and replaced it on its shelf, Luna trailing behind.

"So you do want to hear about my visit to his office?"

"Hurry, before Fred and George come back from lunch." She grabbed Luna's arm and pulled her behind the counter; they crouched down together under the register, knees nearly to their chins.

Luna squeezed her hands. "I don't think this is just a fling for him, Ginny," she said, and Ginny moaned and closed her eyes. "I had a bit of fun torturing him by not telling him right away when to meet you, and I had his complete attention. He didn't move an _inch _while I 'decided' that it was all right to tell him where you lived."

"But you did, didn't you?" Ginny asked, worried. "You gave him that bit of parchment with my address on it?"

"Of course I did. I just didn't give it to him right away."

She released a relieved breath. "What else did he say?"

Luna shrugged. "Not much. Said he would Apparate right outside your door, so make sure your wards are ready for it. Said he didn't want you around Harry. Nothing important."

"Nothing important?" she cried. Merlin, Draco was _jealous_! She bit her lower lip thoughtfully, wondering what that meant. Was there any kind of label she could put on her relationship with Draco? Did she even have one? And why was she so eager to think she had a relationship with him when just a few days ago she had hated him with everything she had?

"Did you ever think anything like this would happen?" Ginny whispered. "A Malfoy, and a Weasley?"

"Malfoy and Weasley are just names," Luna said, shifting slightly. "When you take that away, what have you got left?"

_You have that shy smile he gave me at the masquerade_, Ginny thought. _The look in his eyes when I took off my mask._ "You're right," she said, staring off into the distance.

Luna smiled knowingly. "What are you going to do, then?"

"Wear that green blouse Hermione gave me for my birthday. And keep my hair down, maybe --"

Fred and George bounced into the room moments later, and Ginny and Luna immediately stood as though they had been caught doing something wrong. "Luna," George said, brightening, and he pulled her in close for a kiss. "What's the occasion, love?"

"Ginny and I are trying to decide what we'll get when we go shopping tomorrow," Luna said, gazing up at George adoringly. Fred rolled his eyes and went to flip around the sign in the front window to reopen the store. "Can you think of anything I might need?"

George opened his mouth to speak, but then blushed a deep shade of scarlet and darted a guilty look towards Ginny. "Okay, ew," she said, wrinkling her nose. "I do not need to know what kind of lingerie my brother likes. Save it for later."

"That's what you should get, Ginny," Luna said. "Some smashing lingerie. I bet you'd look great in a black satin corset --"

"Okay, ew!" Fred and George both howled. "That's our baby sister!"

"What?" Luna said, eyes wide and innocent. "You liked it when _I _wore one, George."

George reddened even further, while Fred and Ginny roared with laughter.

Telling Harry that she wasn't going to go with him to see McGonagall was far harder than she had expected. She invited him to her flat Tuesday night for supper, and afterwards they sat on the sofa together, drinking wine. Soft music played on her grammophone, a Celestina Warbeck song her mother had given her in the hopes that it would "help the mood" when she and Harry were alone. Ginny never played it if she could help it, but Harry loved it for some reason.

His face sank when she told him, after twenty minutes of working up the courage to say it. "Are you sure? McGonagall always loves it when we visit."

Ginny struggled to keep the regretful smile on her face, even as her stomach roiled with guilt. "I haven't got my Christmas presents yet," she said. "You want me to get you something good, don't you?"

"But why did you have to pick tomorrow of all days?"

"I have off work on Wednesdays," Ginny said, patience slipping. "The stores are crazy on the weekends, so if I actually want to get what I need I have to go when the crowds are lightest."

Harry frowned and scuffed his foot on the floor. "All right," he said. "I guess I'll just send your regrets to McGonagall. Have fun shopping."

She reached up and pushed his hair back from his forehead affectionately, the infamous scar standing out on his pale skin. "Thanks, Harry. I know this is short notice, but I'll make it up to you, I promise."

He looked up at her then, eyebrows raised, and she recognized right away the look in his eyes. His intent became all the more clearer when he took her wine glass and set both of theirs down on the coffee table. "You promise, do you?" he said, and, cupping her face in his hands, he bent to brush his lips against hers. When the kiss prompted no emotional reaction on her part, Ginny hated herself for maintaining this farce with him. Harry didn't notice anything amiss, for he slid his fingers into her long hair as he kissed her again, making a little sound at the back of his throat as her tongue met his.

Ginny arched towards him and placed her hands at his waist, following her role in the script as it had been written years ago, when she still thought she loved him. With her fingers she pushed up the hem of his long-sleeved t-shirt, making slow, lazy patterns on his lower back. He shivered appreciatively, and shifted them so she was laying down, pressed into the arm of the sofa, with his body stretched out over her. One hand left her hair and slipped down her side, caressing her through her thin sweater, and Ginny realized then with a sinking feeling that She Could Not Do This.

"Harry," she murmured against his lips, trying to tell him, but it came out breathy and he started kissing her jaw, the sensitive skin under her ear. He hit the magic spot on her neck that reduced her to nothing, no matter who he wasn't, and Ginny groaned, eyes fluttering. She remembered how it had been when Draco had kissed that same spot, his mouth hot on her skin, his hands at her hips, his blonde hair falling across his face and glinting palely in the light. _Draco. Oh God, _DracoHer breath quickened, and she unconsciously pulled his shirt up, gripping it in her fists, wanting more. He moaned and moved lower to kiss just below her clavicle, then between her breasts, and he was unbuttoning her blouse, his hands rough on her smooth skin. Ginny could scarcely breathe for gasping in expectation, caught up in just feeling and reacting, lusting and wanting.

"Ginny," he murmured, flush against her chest. His voice vibrated in her bones. "I need you so much --"

Her eyes flew open as she froze, unable to continue. The voice was the wrong tone. The dark hair dancing over her breasts was the wrong color. _It's the wine,_ Ginny thought, as Harry raised his face and she looked away. _I thought he was Draco. I didn't mean to let things get this far._

"Are you all right, Ginny?" Harry said, rubbing circles on the back of her neck with his thumb. It was meant to be comforting, she knew, but all she felt was despair. Harry didn't deserve this from her, from anyone. "I'll stop if you want," he said, and her heart broke because he was saying that for her benefit. The tightness in his trousers spoke a completely different story.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, pulling her shirt closed once more. "I -- I'm not feeling well. I ate too much."

"Ate too much?" Harry said, looking at her wide-eyed. "You hardly ate a thing at supper."

"My stomach is upset," Ginny said, praying that her face or ears wouldn't turn red and give her away. "I'm sorry. I think I'll just have some stomach flu powders and go to bed."

He sat back on his heels on the couch and let her get up. She could feel his eyes on her as she walked across the room and headed to the bathroom, where she fumbled around in her potion cabinet. The box of stomach flu powders was empty. _Wonderful_.

"Do you think you're coming down with something?" Harry called from the other room. Ginny took a packet of headache powders and ripped it open.

"I sure hope not," she said. She turned the faucet on and dumped the headache powders down the drain. "Luna was so looking forward to going shopping tomorrow. I think it's just...well, I really don't know what." She shut off the water and threw the packet into the bin.

She walked back into the living room and Harry was seated upright, on the far end of the sofa. "Feel any better?" he asked, concern shining in his eyes.

"Much, thanks," she said, giving him a weak smile. "Look..."

"I'll go," he finished, a wry grin on his face. "I know when I'm not wanted."

"Harry --"

"Kidding, Ginny. I'll see you later?"

"Floo me on Thursday," she said. She even gave him a light kiss on the mouth for his trouble. He smiled at her again and shut the apartment door quietly behind him when he left.

As soon as his footsteps had retreated down the hall, and she heard the telltale _snap_ of him Apparating, Ginny groaned and collapsed onto the couch. This all would have been easier if Harry was a bad person, she decided mournfully. If Harry had treated her horribly the five years they had dated, if he had hit her or yelled or cheated or loved her family any less -- she could have justified wanting to leave him. She could have explained why five minutes with Draco could erase hundreds of years of enmity. She could argue why two of Draco's kisses loomed larger in her heart than all of Harry's combined.

But the truth wasn't so easily packaged. Harry was a wonderful man: kind, considerate, funny, smart. He adored her parents as his own, and got along with all of her brothers. Being with him was simple, because he was already so much a part of their lives that to cut him out of the picture was unthinkable. Molly had been saying for years that she thought Ginny and Harry made a perfect couple, and hinted even more strongly that she would love to have a gaggle of little Potters running around underfoot.

She tried to imagine Molly saying that she'd enjoy having Malfoy grandchildren, and the mental image just didn't work.

_There I go again, already picking the names of our children_, Ginny thought darkly. She stood and took their wine glasses to the kitchen to wash them. _I've seen Draco in the society magazines, and I've seen the slags he's usually with. They don't last more than a week or two before he's moved on to greener pastures. That's all I am. His next conquest._

She looked up at her reflection in the window above the kitchen sink. _His next conquest_, she thought, and she wondered why the prospect of having a no-strings affair saddened her so much.

* * *

Ginny chose a white blouse, after discovering the green shirt from Hermione at the bottom of her wash pile. All that morning, since having started awake at dawn, she had rushed around her flat, picking up and cleaning and rearranging. Nevertheless, after standing with her hands on her hips and checking over her work, she despaired of what he would think. Draco was fabulously wealthy, and likely used to palatial accomodations, and while Fred and George certainly paid her well she couldn't say her standard of living was more than just very comfortable. She changed the sheets on the bed to her nicest gold colored Egyptian cotton set, and hoped for the best.

By noon she was frantic. She thought to waste some time by making herself an elaborate gourmet lunch, using the cookbook Molly had bought her for her birthday, but by the time she had put a place setting at the table and started serving herself she was too nervous to eat. The food was packed up and shoved into the refrigerator. It was still not two o'clock.

She tried to read, but she couldn't concentrate. She tried finding something on the little television she'd modified to work with magic, and there was nothing interesting to watch. She considered Flooing Luna to see what she was up to, but then reasoned she was probably out shopping to keep Ginny's alibi. Her heart was pounding in her head by the time one o'clock rolled around. She had convinced herself this was all one big mistake.

"Harry and I are -- going through a rough patch right now," Ginny practiced aloud, anxiously twisting a curl of hair round her finger. She paced the living room as she spoke. "I was angry with him the night of the ball, and you happened to -- to be the first man to show interest in me. I do apologize if I led you on. I've since spoken to Harry and we're on our way to working things out between us --"

There was a sharp _crack_ in the hallway outside her flat.

Ginny couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Even her heart had stopped; the blood flowing in her veins had gone stagnant.

Three sharp knocks on the front door.

She was standing directly before the door, some yards back, and she couldn't tear her eyes away. "It -- it's open," she finally managed, once her voice would obey her.

The door swung in and shut again behind him, and anything Ginny had previously thought was wiped from her memory with her first look at him.

Draco calmly shrugged off his fine woolen robes and hung them on the rack on the wall, glancing at his surroundings with mild interest. Under his robes he wore an expensive-looking black shirt, the collar stiffly starched; charcoal gray trousers with neatly pressed creases; and polished dress shoes.

"Getting chilly outside," he said casually, and she noticed then that there had been tiny white snowflakes on his shoulders, melting rapidly in the indoor heat. "Had to stop and warm up before I could Apparate."

"Oh," Ginny said dumbly.

He paid her no attention and instead devoted himself to looking around the room, hands in his pockets. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to the elbow, revealing strong forearms. His left arm was conspicuously bare. "Well," he declared airily, after studying everything with what she was sure was more care than it required, "you have decent taste in furnishings and decor, I suppose."

"Thank you," she said, and then he at last turned his eyes on her. Nothing stirred in the flat as she drank him in, everything from the way the sunlight almost made his eyes look blue to the set of his mouth. She wondered what he was thinking, if he was wondering how long he had to stay, or how good she was in bed. _Merlin, _she thought frantically, _Harry's too nice to mention it, but what if I'm a rotten shag?_

"Can I get you something to eat or drink?" Ginny blurted out, taking a step backward. "I think I've got some takeaway from a few nights ago, or butterbeers..."

"A butterbeer, if you're having one," Draco said, starting towards her. Jumping in fright, Ginny scurried into the kitchen, where she forgot for a moment where the butterbeers would be and stood blankly as she tried to recover the use of her brain. Draco stepped into the room after her just as she remembered, and she headed for the magically-adapted fridge.

"So, how was your day?" she asked inanely, as she opened the door and bent to root around for her last butterbeers. "Mine was all right, though my favorite shirt was in the wash --"

She felt something suddenly, at her waist. His hand. His hand was at her waist, and the other had brushed back her long hair from her shoulders and _those_ were his lips at the back of her neck. Involuntarily, Ginny made a noise that was a cross between a sigh and a moan, and moved towards him. The butterbeer she had finally found slipped from her cold fingers and clattered back onto the plastic shelf.

Somehow he maneuvered her so that the refrigerator door was closed and she was pressed against it, his face looming over hers. "Make that sound again," he said gruffly, not sounding at all like himself.

Lust made her bold, adventurous. "Earn it," she breathed, and his lips crashed onto hers. Ginny clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to bruise as they tasted one another. He had drunk something sweet recently, like wine or pomegranate juice, and all she wanted to do was keep kissing him until she had found all of the delicious places in his mouth. His hand rose up from her waist and palmed her breast through the material of her shirt; Ginny moaned and arched into him, wanting more. "Yes, again," he muttered, placing hot kisses down her throat. He squeezed and she cried out, lost in pleasure that bordered on pain. "Make that sound for me."

"Want you," she whispered, and she reached down and started undoing his shirt. Her hands shook so badly she could hardly get the buttons out of their holes. His teeth grazed her skin, and she ripped his shirt out of his trousers. "Want you _now_."

He dragged his hand down to the belt of her trousers (she regretted that clothing choice now) and with one swift jerk he had undone the fastening. Another jerk and the zipper was down. Ginny wriggled her hips a bit and the trousers pooled at her ankles, where she tossed them off.

Draco groaned and grabbed her by the waist. "Any more moves like that and I'm done before we even start," he said hoarsely.

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "What do you mean? Moves like this?" She ground into him and his obvious arousal, and was delighted when he flung his head back, his eyelids at half-mast. He looked intoxicated with desire, mad with passion, his parted lips red and swollen from their heated kisses, and Ginny couldn't remember him looking more beautiful than he did at that very moment. She couldn't remember now why she had had her doubts about him, for only her longings filled her senses, and she knew she would not stop until she had irrevocably become part of him.

She was in control now, now that she had momentarily driven him insane with wanting. Ginny reached down, leaving his shirt still half-unbuttoned, and made quick work of his belt and trousers. The expensive material crumpled as it fell, revealing green silk boxers that were doing little to hide his erection. As though getting his second wind, he kissed her again, forcefully, hard enough to take her breath away and leave her gasping. His hands slid from her waist to grab her arse, and while she writhed under his touch he hoisted her up against the fridge door. Ginny obligingly wrapped her legs around his waist, bracing herself with one hand on the fridge and the other round his neck.

With his mouth he made a hot, wet trail from her neck to her breasts, kissing them through the thin fabric of her shirt. Ginny moaned and threaded one hand through his fine hair, to hold his head closer, then cried out when she felt his fingers grazing the elastic of her panties. She was wet already, embarrassingly so, and when he discovered this fact she could feel his hum of approval vibrating through her.

"So fucking gorgeous," he heard him mutter into her hot skin, "Want you so bad, so beautiful, want to hear you --"

His words rang familiar, even to her lust-soaked mind. He had said those things to her before, in dreaming, before she had known he was even real and that there was more to him than just those mercurial eyes. One of his long fingers slipped beyond the elastic and grazed against her -- hardly any pressure at all, but enough that she bucked against him, moaning.

Ginny pulled him away from her breasts and kissed him with all the ardor she possessed. "No games," she gasped against his lips. "Do it now, I want you now --" With a groan, he pulled aside her panties and found her center, stroking her surely with his long, thin fingers. She nearly saw stars as the first strong wave crashed over her, and she gripped him to maintain even the slightest connection to something solid. She squeezed her legs around him, bringing his arousal ever closer to hers, and the contact was almost unbearable. Somehow, he managed to hold her up between himself and the fridge and pull down his boxers at the same time. But she didn't have any time to ponder over his methods for seconds later, he had pushed inside of her and there was no need for thinking at all.

They both cried out the moment they were joined. Ginny, throbbing with yet unsatisfied lust, felt as though her entire body -- every finger and every toe, even the strands of her hair -- had now just one purpose: she had been created to touch him. As he began to move inside her, his motions becoming increasingly more jerky and less controlled, her hands roamed all over his shoulders, his chest, his arms supporting her weight, and she kissed him until neither of them could breathe. His panting was loud in her ears, interspersed with more murmured exclamations about how much he wanted her, heating her skin until she thought she would melt. His kisses were disjointed, secondary to the motion of their lower bodies, afterthoughts, and still passionate enough to continue to reduce her to nothing.

"Fuck," he muttered, biting her neck. "I'm close, I'm --"

Ginny was pushed further into the refrigerator as his whole body stiffened, and with a drawn-out groan she felt him come inside her. The sensation of his orgasm, and the knowledge that she had made him lose his composure so utterly, and his talented fingers, and she followed right after, screaming his name as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. Ginny had never come so hard in her life. Now she knew what she had been missing all these years.

In the aftermath there was nothing. She was boneless, weightless, devoid of tension or anxiety or fear, only listening as her breath came out in heavy gasps, echoing his in her ear. Slowly, carefully, he moved his hands from her arse to her upper thighs, and while she was still somewhat dazed, doused in a heady post-coital glow, he supported her weight as he sank to the floor and laid them out on the linoleum.

She could only watch him for a moment, speechless. He supported himself on his elbows above her, but turned his face away as he -- she supposed -- got himself back under control. When he looked back the color had left his face once more, his lips were straight and thin again -- but his eyes... Without thinking about it Ginny reached up and brushed his near-white hair away from his face, to better look into them. Did anyone else she knew have eyes quite like his? Deceptively flat and emotionless, yes, as they had been back when they were at Hogwarts, but beyond the self-imposed veil there was so much more. Had he been anyone else Ginny would have said there was something human in them, in him, a deep-seated sense of pride and passion that had no negative connotations. And now, after they had just been together (_made love?_ she wondered) there was something else -- something she had seen nightly in her dreams, equally as powerful as his words of adoration and yearning, equally as unspeakable.

Draco bent his head towards her then, and brushed his lips softly against hers. He moved on to her nose, her eyelids, her cheeks, and back to her lips. Something wonderful fluttered in her belly, something that made her want to dance and sing and shout all at the same time. She threaded her fingers through his fine hair and made him deepen the kiss, and still it was gentle. How had she missed before how soft his lips were? They kissed as though they had all the time in the world, as though perhaps time itself had stopped, just for them.

Her hands left his hair, and trailed softly down his back, still covered by his shirt. He shuddered and leaned into her, and only when he hardened again did she realize that he was still buried deep inside of her.

"Merlin," she said, her voice low and throaty, "I know young men are renowned for their recovery time, but this borders on supernatural."

He snorted into the crook of her throat. "The lady has an objection?" he murmured.

"Trust me, you'll know when I have an objection." She raked her nails back towards his hair, reveling in her newfound power over him. "This is not one."

"That's what I thought." He shifted onto one arm, and with the other hand he methodically started unbuttoning her shirt. "You're wearing too much."

Ginny giggled as his fingers brushed a particularly sensitive spot on her stomach, and kissed him happily. "I was starting to think you'd never notice, Draco darling."

With some creative maneuvering they managed to relieve her of her shirt and bra, and him of his own shirt. She heard rather than saw him kick off his trousers and boxers, and a highly impressive bit of wandless banishment removed her panties. All the while they could hardly keep their lips away from each other -- they kissed a good ten minutes with Draco half-in, half-out of his black business shirt.

"Ready now?" he said softly, as he drew Ginny's legs around his waist.

She tried and failed to smother a silly grin, unable to accept just how good he made her feel, how amazing he felt touching her. "Well, if I must," she said, pretending annoyance.

"Oh yes," he said, moving his hips against hers; Ginny threw her head back and moaned. "You must. I have four hours and I don't plan on wasting a single minute of them."

Ginny shut her eyes at that, as though not seeing him would protect her from the barrage of doubts that assailed her at his words. He had to leave at six o'clock. To do what? See Pansy? Would he kiss her and make her feel as fantastic as Ginny felt? Or perhaps he was meeting one of those enviably beautiful witches she'd seen him with in the society rags. She kissed him harder, clinging to him with her arms and legs, and let herself be taken away by the harmonized movement of their bodies.

She was just another one of his flings. If all she had were these four hours, she wouldn't waste a single minute either.


	7. Beauteous Flower

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not mine.

**A/N:** Albany (not _the _Albany) was a highly exclusive residential area during the 1960s, and I assume it's pretty upscale still. The actor Terrence Stamp lived there, along with a host of British noblemen and wealthy businessmen (women were barred from living there for years). It seemed the perfect place for a Malfoy to live, if he had to Muggle it. (/history lesson)

**Chapter Six - Beauteous Flower**

"_So thrive my soul..."_

Draco idly wondered, in the dull, bluish-green light of a late autumn morning, as he straightened his robes and hair before going to work, thinking with the analytical and objective distance twelve hours had given him -- he wondered what exactly love felt like.

He knew it was far too soon to be thinking things like that. For Merlin's sake, just a week ago he had scowled at the mention of anything remotely Weasley-related, and now here he was, reduced to a star-struck idiot at the thought of the youngest Weasley's red hair fanned out on the linoleum floor. They never had made it into her bedroom, which was in itself another anomaly. When had he ever been so eager for a shag that he hadn't been able to wait until they were in bed? No, he and Ginny had been on the kitchen floor, and the table, against the fridge again, in the shower... Some of his limbs were stiff from being on such hard, unforgiving surfaces, and with a pang he realized she was probably even worse off. The thought brought an arrogant smirk to his face, one that stayed there until he walked into his office and his secretary saw it.

"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy," she said, handing him a stack of Floo calls and owl post he had missed yesterday. "It looks like your investors meeting went well yesterday?"

"Good morning, Mrs. Blackburn," he said, accepting the papers. "Yes, very well, thank you. Come into my office in about five minutes?"

"Certainly, sir." She returned to her seat, and Draco strolled into his office, unconsciously whistling to himself as he set down his briefcase and removed his outer robes. The late-rising sun, shining blood red through the London smog, burned ribbons of color on the Thames and across the tops and sides of the tall Muggle buildings. Big Ben's face glowed like a second sun, and the city seemed on fire. As he watched, the London Bridge started raising, split right in half, to accomodate a massive cargo ship headed for elsewhere. He stopped for once to enjoy the view, a small smile playing on his lips as he continued to hum a little under his breath.

That was how Blaise found him when he walked in moments later, one snarky comment dying unborn on his lips and another taking its place. "Good God, man, are you actually singing?"

Draco shot him a dark look and collapsed into his leather desk chair. "Don't you have a day job or something?" he said irritably.

"Independently wealthy, remember?" Blaise sat down as well, folding his hands in his lap. "For that matter, so are you, Draco. Why did Mrs. Blackburn tell me you went to meet with potential investors yesterday?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Because I did. Just because I'm richer than half of England --"

Blaise gave a snort of disbelief.

"Right, just because I'm richer than half of _Europe_ doesn't mean I'll say no to having more money. This wizard was from Russia, and he was interested in getting in on the new medicinal cures Malfoy Laboratories has discovered." _Thank Merlin Father taught me how to lie effectively_, Draco thought, as Blaise peered at him and nodded.

"That doesn't explain why you were humming. Money has never made you hum before."

Draco frowned and started looking through the Floo calls he had received while he had been with Ginny. "First I'm not allowed to be unpredictable, now I'm not allowed to hum. Why are there so many rules to be followed to be your mate, Blaise?"

Blaise threw his head back and laughed heartily. "I knew I hung around you for a reason," he said. "And I knew there was a reason I want you to be my best man."

It took Draco a few minutes for his brain to catch up to what Blaise had just said. When it did, he looked up at the smug man on the other side of the desk, eyebrows raised. "Best --? _Merlin_, Blaise, did you finally propose to Daphne?"

"Finally?" Blaise said. "Well, if you're going to be that way about it --" He stood up and made as if to leave.

"Oh, you prize git," Draco said, chuckling, "no need for that."

Blaise grinned and sat again. "Then yes, to answer your question. I went to her parents on Tuesday and asked permission, then last night I took Daphne to that restaurant she loves in Diagon Alley, Tantalus, and showed her the ring during dessert. Wedding will be next June."

"I think congratulations are in order." Draco reached across the desk and shook Blaise's hand. "Let's get together sometime to celebrate. Tell your mother and the Greengrasses to expect an invitation to the Manor within the next few weeks. We'll have supper, get drunk on old wine. It'll be brilliant."

Blaise gave him a pitying look, abruptly serious. "I know this can't be easy for you, Draco," he began.

"Hm?" He was already back to sifting through Wednesday's post.

"I thank Merlin almost every day that my mother didn't arrange a marriage for me at birth," Blaise said, "but I never forget that you weren't as lucky. Once my engagement is announced I know your mum and the Parkinsons will increase the pressure on you to wed Pansy."

He shrugged, struggling to not think about Ginny. "It's not a problem," he said lightly. "I spoke to Snape the other day and asked him to help me get out of it. What's truly lucky is that the contract that was made didn't use the old style Binding Spells. Snape thinks it should be relatively easy to undo."

"Ah, I see." Blaise nodded thoughtfully. "That's good news, I suppose."

"You only suppose? I think it's bloody fantastic."

"Well, even if you aren't bound to Pansy anymore, you still can't marry that Weasley girl, right?"

Draco gripped the parchment pages in his hands, hard, to keep from showing a physical reaction to hearing Ginny mentioned. "Marry her?" he said with a snort. "You can't be serious."

Blaise tilted his head to one side. "So what happened with the two of you after the ball, anyway? Shag like rabbits, did you?"

Draco leaned back in his chair, clinging to his control by his fingernails. He wondered if Blaise could hear how rapidly his heart was beating. "We decided there was nothing for it," he said lazily, studying his nails. "It would be the height of foolishness to pursue a relationship when her brothers would be out for my blood, and my mother is no slouch when it comes to nasty hexes."

"Moved on quickly then, didn't you?" Blaise said, sneering. "I'll wager a thousand Galleons that your 'investors meeting' yesterday was a rendezvous with some pretty thing you met at a club somewhere."

Draco forced himself to laugh. "I had dinner with my mother at the Manor yesterday, ask her. I don't think my life is quite as sordid as you think it is."

"Well, I've got eyes, haven't I? And I know you didn't have that mark on your neck two days ago."

As he made himself laugh again, he wondered for only a moment why he was lying to his best friend. Blaise would not utter a word if Draco did decide to tell him, as he had been discreet about Draco's other affairs. And Ginny's friend Luna was in on the secret already, as was Snape, so it wasn't as though they were keeping it from absolutely everyone.

_But if the truth were ever revealed, Blaise would rat me out in a minute_, Draco reasoned, _and if I were in that situation I would as well. There's a reason we're both Slytherins._

His guilty thoughts vanished, however, after Blaise left and Mrs. Blackburn entered the office, as he had requested when he first arrived. "How can I help you, Mr. Malfoy?" she said, parchment and quill ready to take notes.

"I need flowers," he said. Mrs. Blackburn didn't bat an eye; numerous were the times she had had to sent parting gifts to casual lovers over the years. "Several arrangements, whatever's in season right now. And have them include a notecard with the following message..."

* * *

Friday night found Ginny at Ron and Hermione's new flat, having a moving-in supper of sorts. They had physically moved in about a month ago, but in the time since they had arranged all of the furniture the way they wanted it, painted the walls, hung pictures, planted flowers in the box hanging from the tiny balcony. Everyone that had helped move them in was there: Ginny with Harry, and Fred and Angelina and George and Luna. 

But even though everyone around her was laughing and having a good time, it was an effort for Ginny to pretend the same. Ever since Wednesday, when Draco had walked out of her flat with his hair mussed and a hickey under his collar, she had felt as though they were already over. Really, she should never have expected anything but a bit of how's-your-father and then the door, so she mostly berated herself for wanting something more from a notorious playboy. Some secret part of her had fantasized about being the woman to change him, the one to make him settle down and become a one-woman man. Such fantasies were well and good for helping her fall asleep at night, but they never came true.

Ginny hadn't really been paying attention to the conversation flowing around her -- Harry's arm was around her shoulders and she leaned into him, Ron and Hermione were being, well, Ron and Hermione, and Luna was explaining to Angelina and the group about an article the _Quibbler_ had recently published.

"Speaking of the _Quibbler_," Ron said, interrupting the story, "what's this I hear from Creevey that a secret admirer sent you a garden's worth of flowers yesterday, Luna?"

Luna smiled and looked right at Ginny, who immediately understood the unspoken message.

"Oi, better watch it Forge," Fred said, poking George with his fork, "looks like someone's trying to cut in on you."

"She won't tell me who sent them," George said angrily. "Otherwise I'd send him a package of Dungbombs."

"There's a reason they're called _secret_ admirers, George," Hermione said. "Luna obviously doesn't know who they're from."

"The card was very nice, though," Luna said, and Ginny felt her pulse pick up slightly. "He said my eyes were 'green as fresh-pickled toad'..." They all burst into laughter while Ginny made halfhearted complaints.

"You'll never live that down, Ginny," Angelina teased.

"I rue the day I ever sent that valentine," Ginny said dryly, and, since she was suddenly feeling so charitable, she kissed Harry full on the lips. "But not too much." He grinned lovingly back at her.

After dinner, when the four women were in the kitchen cleaning up and their men were out of earshot in the living room, listening to the Cannons-Tornadoes match on the Wireless, Hermione and Angelina instantly rounded on Ginny. "Spill, Ginny," Hemione ordered, hands on her hips.

Ginny blinked and finished casting the dishwashing spell in bewilderment. "Spill what?"

"Please Gin," Angelina said, rolling her eyes. "You're practically limping."

"I am?" she squealed.

"Yes, you are," Luna said dreamily, a knowing smile on her face. "It takes a woman to see it, although in this case I doubt any of the boys missed it either."

Ginny's blood ran cold at that. Had Harry noticed? Did he suspect something now? The smile stayed on her face however, and she said, "All right, you caught me."

"Dear Merlin, love," Angelina said, shaking her head. "That must have been some shag."

"What exactly did you do?" Hermione said.

_What didn't we? _Ginny thought, blushing. "Er...well..."

"Actually, no, I don't want to know," she said quickly. "Harry's practically my brother. But still..." She smothered a giggle, which was very un-Hermione. Ron had done a lot towards loosening her up, it seemed. "Your sex life must be amazing if you can barely _walk_ afterwards."

Ginny chuckled nervously, desperate to change the subject. Luna was being of no help. "I've got no complaints," she said lightly, "besides the fact that I'm looking for some kind of spell or cream for the soreness, you know?"

Thankfully, that set them off into talking about the products they used, which worked best, which were the most inexpensive. Ginny pretended to listen and nodded every now and then, but her eye caught Luna's. Luna raised her eyebrows and Ginny gave her a loaded look that Hermione and Angelina would have missed had they seen it.

"Do you have any wine for apéritifs?" Luna asked Hermione suddenly.

"No," she grumbled, frowning. "My prat husband forgot to pick up a bottle on the way home."

"Luna and I can go pick one up," Ginny offered, seeing what Luna had in mind. "There's that little place a few blocks away, isn't there?"

"Oh would you?" Hermione said. "I think most of us like red wine here, I'll get you some money."

Ginny could barely hold herself back while Hermione took her time rooting through her purse for a handful of Galleons and Sickles and gave them to Luna. They were talking about Angelina and Fred's difficulties in becoming pregnant by then, and all Ginny wanted to do was run out of the room and get away from them. She loved her sisters-in-law, but sometimes their enviable marital bliss was just too much to stomach. When Luna finally had enough money and they had been given a specific kind of wine to buy, Ginny dragged her through the living room and out the door before any of her brothers or Harry could ask where they were going.

"Were they really from him?" she asked, once they were out of the building and walking towards the shop. "Do you have the notecard?"

"Of course they were," Luna said with a grin, "and of course I do." She slipped a hand inside her robes and pulled out a small envelope; Ginny took it with an excited little squeak.

It was darkening rapidly, but they both stopped under the next streetlamp they passed so Ginny could open the card and read the brief message, written on the florist's creamy stationery:

"_Set No. 4, Albany_

_Piccadilly entrance_

_Saturday at noon_

_Blonde/blue - Wendy_"

"Oh my God," Ginny gushed, looking up from the card. "He lives at _Albany_?"

"He's a Malfoy, what do you expect?" Luna said, shrugging, as she read over Ginny's shoulder. "Although I've heard that there was an illegal potions ring being run out of Albany a few years ago. I'm sure he wasn't involved."

They started walking down the street again, though Ginny continuously looked down to check that the card was really in her hands. She couldn't believe it. Here she had thought that Wednesday had been the beginning and the end of them, and now he was inviting her to one of the most exclusive communities in all London for a second...whatever they were.

"I'm glad I gave you that tonight instead of waiting," Luna said on their way back. A bottle of Pinot Noir swung from the bag in Ginny's hand. "Otherwise you would have missed him."

"What do the flowers look like?"

"Beautiful," Luna said with a starry-eyed gaze. "I had to check them first for winklebugs, but they really are quite lovely. All different kinds and colors."

"Oh Luna," she said, suddenly throwing her arms round her friend's neck. "Why do I feel like a little kid on Christmas? Everything seems brilliant, everything is going so wonderfully..."

Luna hesitated before replying. "What are you going to tell Harry to explain your absence?"

Ginny sighed and was silent a moment. "I can't say I'm going shopping with you again," she said thoughtfully. "I'll go see Neville, I suppose. He still lives above Scrivenshaft's, right?"

"Ginny."

"Yeah?" She was already miles away, wondering what the next day would bring.

"Are you going to tell Harry about _him_?"

"I --" Ginny's throat seized, and she gripped Luna's hand. "You don't understand. I can't break up with Harry."

"Sure you can. You say, Harry, I can't be with you anymore."

"No, I --" She thought about how she could explain it. "He's -- well, he's _Harry_. Mum and Dad think of him like a son. He's Ron's best mate. We've been dating for five years, and I -- I can't just up and tell him that I don't want to be with him anymore, because then he'd ask why and I'd have to tell him, and he'd tell Ron who'd tell Mum and Dad. Draco would be on the Missing Persons list the following morning."

"Right," Luna said, biting her lip. "Loss of life is not an option."

"No," Ginny agreed. "So we're just not going to say anything."

"And you're going to alternate sleeping with Harry and Draco."

Ginny winced. "I hadn't gotten that far in planning." They reached Ron and Hermione's front door. From within they could hear Ron ranting about a poor call made by the referee against the Cannons. "Just...let me think things through, all right? For now Harry stays in the dark."

"I don't like it," Luna said reluctantly, "but I'll go along with it."

"Good." Ginny grinned. "Now what do you think a set at Albany looks like?"

* * *

Severus Snape was having plenty of luck finding information about blood feuds. For being one of the more taboo and barbaric magical practices in wizarding society, writers and researchers seemed to find something exciting about describing the often ridiculous reasons blood feuds were declared. In the few days since Draco had informed him of his infatuation with the Weasley girl, Snape had amassed an impressive amount of books on the subject, citing specific examples through the ages of blood feuds. 

And yet, there was almost nothing to be found on the most famous blood feud of them all.

He wondered if the lack should be taken as a positive or a negative thing. Certainly, there were some truly awful blood feuds in some of the books -- the great Derwent-Graham feud of the 19th century being a lesser one. It had started when Phineas Derwent, a member of the Wizengamot, had severely disagreed on experimental potions testing with the Supreme Mugwump of the time, Dorothy Graham. When talking it out hadn't worked, Phineas had invoked a blood feud by drawing his own blood and saying the spell to seal it: _hostilitas aeternus_. The only way to cease the blood feud, according to Derwent's specifications, was for some member of the Graham family to subject themselves to being test subjects for new potions. The Grahams had no choice: houses in officially recorded feuds such as theirs were magically barred from dealing with one another in any capacity; if a situation ever arose, the feuding family members would suffer severe physical ailments like migraines and chronic fatigue. Eventually, Lucas Graham agreed to be a potion tester to end the feud, but the potions he tried so damaged him internally that all five of his children were born with horrible deformities.

The Derwent-Graham feud appeared in several of the books Snape found, in his private collection and in the library at Hogwarts. McGonagall was Headmistress there, and she was well aware of his role in the War, so she had no issue with him using Hogwarts' vast resources. As far as blood feuds went, the Derwent-Graham was relatively tame, and he could only hope, as he read about some feuds requiring human or animal sacrifices of various kinds, that the Malfoy-Weasley feud was as minor. Somehow, though, he highly doubted it.

So far all he had found were brief mentions of the Malfoy-Weasley feud, and in sources that were not entirely reliable. One was in a sensational book called _Pivotal Moments in 9th Century Wizarding Britain_, which claimed that Lucrezia Mallefoi had run away with Dane Weaselby, thus inspiring their parents' anger. The story was entirely false, for the name Weasley had not changed in nearly two thousand years, and House Mal Foi had come to Britain with William of Normandy in 1066. Snape looked up other facts in _Pivotal Moments_ and was dismayed to find not a single truthful word in the book. Disgusted, he tossed the tome into the fire roaring on the hearth and made a note to write McGonagall to tell her why he had burned one of her books.

The other citations were more reputable, yet just as lacking in information. In book after book there was mention of "_that moste famous and dire feude, that of families Mal Foye and Weasley, of which we will not speake_" -- but _why _was the feud so infamous? Why would no one write of it save in passing? The further he went in his research without finding any solid facts, the more worried he became that the only way to end the Malfoy-Weasley blood feud would be to do something drastic.

Finally, late on Saturday afternoon, as Snape sat in his cozy study with yet another book in his lap (_Blood Feuds: 1001 Reasons Why You Don't Want to Anger Your Neighbor_), he turned to the next page and found himself staring at an illustration of Draco Malfoy.

Snape sat up straight. On closer study of the picture, which was giving him a rather bored, haughty look, he realized that it was not Draco but one of his ancestors, Charlus Malfoy, the man rumoredly responsible for the feud in the first place. And there, just below it on the same page, was another illustration: its caption read _Sebastian Weasley_. Sebastian waved and smiled at Snape when he saw he had his attention, blue eyes twinkling under a mop of curly red hair, but then returned to scowling up at Charlus.

Hands trembling eagerly, Snape ran his finger down the text, skimming the words to find what he was looking for. In moments, he had found more information than he had in the past four days put together:

"_Traditional blood feuds, being those based on the model of descendants of Cain and Abel, are always one-sided. The wronged party uses the blood feud to exact payment for the damages done from the other party involved. There have been, however, a rare few blood feuds that are based on the infamous Malfoy-Weasley model. Such blood feuds are two-sided; that is, each family must make payment to the other before the feud magic is satisfied. Though the reason for the Malfoy-Weasley feud has been lost over time, it can be assumed that both parties were wronged in some way, with the other family beingresponsible, thus causing their desire for a two-sided payment system. As of this writing their blood feud still stands, making it the oldest known to wizard kind."_

Snape turned the page to see if the passage went on to describe just what was required to end the feud, but he was greeted only by a description of the slightly less famous Hatfield-McCoy feud from America.

He leaned back into his armchair, absorbing what he had just read. In his picture, Charlus Malfoy started studying his nails, and the gesture so sharply reminded Snape of Draco that his throat seized. Sebastian gave him a curious stare, looking exactly like the oldest Weasley, Bill. Snape could have sworn they were the same man.

He couldn't let them do this. There had to be a reason why the feud had gone on for so long, and he suspected it was because the cost was too great for both families to pay. He could not let Draco and Ginny take the hatred of a thousand years on their narrow shoulders.

There was nothing else for it. Though part of him was proud of Draco for being capable of genuine affection, it was not worth bringing down the wrath of the Weasley family upon him. Ginny was happy with Potter, if the _Daily Prophet_ was to be believed. They were both still young yet, with plenty of years ahead of them; Draco could certainly meet someone else and come to care for her just as much, if not more.

Decided, Snape got up and went to his writing desk, and started drafting a letter to Narcissa Malfoy.

* * *

When he woke from his easy, deep slumber, his heart leapt when he saw she was still there. 

Half of him had feared she would leave while he slept. When she had come into his set at noon, with her hair and face transfigured as he had suggested and the doorman bidding her, "Good day, Miss Wendy," he had barely waited for her to remove the Glamour Charms before pulling her into his bedroom to have his wicked way with her. Even then, they still hadn't made it to the bed before she slammed him against the wall and knelt before him, using her mouth and tongue on him in ways that were probably illegal in the European Union. He had blacked out he'd come so hard, and he vaguely remembered her teasing him about shocking the old biddies that lived next-door with his ardent shouts, but then he had grabbed her and kissed her, tasting himself on her lips, and there hadn't been very much talking after that.

He could get used to this, he decided. Waking in the mornings and looking over to see her on the other side of the bed, her fascinating red hair covering her pillow and her body naked under his bedsheets. She smiled when she saw him open his eyes, and he gave her a languorous smile back, feeling something warm expand in his chest.

"Too busy staring at me to rest, were you?" he drawled, blinking away sleep.

She snorted. "Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy."

"Too late." He yawned into his pillow and shifted slightly on his stomach. His arms were stiff from being curled up under his pillow, but he was too comfortable otherwise to move. "What time is it?"

Ginny sat up and looked over him at the clock on his nightstand. With great interest he watched the sheet slip away from her breasts, almost but not quite exposing her completely. "Half past three," she said, settling back down. He shut his eyes. "Why, have a hot date?"

"In fact, I do. You'll probably have to leave before she gets here." He waited for her to remark on his sarcasm, with that wit of hers he'd come to enjoy, but when he chanced a look at her, her face had fallen. She was avoiding his gaze, twisting a tendril of hair in her fingers. She'd taken him seriously.

"You might know her, actually," he said. He reached out and drew her towards him by her neck, marveling at the million different shades of brown and gold in her eyes. "She went to Hogwarts with us."

"Really." Her voice was flat.

"Yes, Wendy, really." She gave him a curious look. He rolled his eyes, trying not to grin. "Gryffindor, year behind me, Quidditch player. The most gorgeous red hair I've ever seen." He raised his head and brushed his lips on hers.

"Oh." Her breath escaped her in a little sigh that almost drove him insane. "Yes, I think I know her," she said, threading her fingers through his hair. They kissed again, deeper, harder, more desperate, and he rolled on top of her. Draco had lost track of the number of times they had had sex now, and yet each time he still needed her as badly as he had when he'd walked into her flat Wednesday afternoon. "Won't she catch us?"

"Oh yes," he murmured, moving down to kiss her jaw, her throat. She gave a smothered cry when he hit his favorite spot on her neck, one that never failed to garner a reaction from her. "She'll be so mad if she sees us."

"Draco," she sighed. He loved the way she made his name sound like the sexiest thing he'd ever heard. She was arching up towards him now as he went farther down, hands tightening in his hair, and he could feel her body humming under him, maybe wanting him as much as he wanted her.

Suddenly, a voice rang out from the front of his set. "Draco? Are you home?"

Ginny made a startled little sound. Draco rolled out of bed and immediately started pulling on his boxers and dressing gown, not bothering with the clothes that lay scattered on the floor. "The loo," he hissed. "Wait in there. I'll get rid of her."

"Who is it?" she hissed back.

"Mother," Draco said. Ginny blanched and ran straight for his attached bathroom.

Narcissa Malfoy was studying a painting hanging by the door when Draco wandered into the parlor, impeccable in her tailored dove gray robes. She turned when she saw him, and raised a single well-shaped eyebrow.

"Am I interrupting something?" she asked, taking in his state of undress.

"No, Mother," Draco said dryly, "I make a habit of walking around my set starkers. Gives the woman across the street a thrill when I leave the blinds up."

She waved her hand carelessly, as though to dismiss what he had said. "Well, send her away, whoever she is," she said, seating herself in a high-backed armchair. Draco took the chair opposite, warily. "I'm sure she has more important things to do."

He stiffened in his chair. "Why don't you tell me what you really want, Mother," he said coolly.

She looked at him steadily for several moments, unblinking, before tucking her gloved hand into her robes and withdrawing a folded letter. "Severus has written me to say he is concerned about you," she said. "He told me you are seeing a girl now that is entirely unsuitable, and may even cause you lasting harm."

Outwardly, a small muscle ticked in his jaw, but inwardly Draco was seething. He had gone to Snape in confidence, and now this betrayal? "Lasting harm?" he said lazily, leaning back.

"Severus was not specific," Narcissa said. "I assume he means she's a golddigger. You know how your father and I warned you about witches like that."

"You have nothing to worry about," he said coldly. "I can handle her by myself."

"Are you using contraceptives? I hate to think that the next Malfoy heir would be the child of one of those slags I see in the papers with you."

Draco thought his heart might have stopped then. _Is Ginny using a potion?_ Frantically, he rationalized that she was smarter than that, and had been dating Potter for years already. Of course she was taking one. She didn't even need the example of her mother's seven children to figure that one out.

"You seem terribly accepting of all of this, Mother," he said carefully. "What happened to forcing Pansy on me?"

"In due time," she said, smiling that little smile that always came to her face at the mention of Pansy. "I know young men need their dalliances before they settle down. Mrs. Parkinson and I agree that we'll need a few years to plan the event, besides."

"How charitable of you, Mother," Draco said. "I know how much you relish going through the motions of being a parent."

Narcissa went very still. "Darling, what are you --"

"He's dead, Mother," he snapped. "But that doesn't mean I am too."

She looked away, her composure cracked at last. Her hand trembled as she reached up and touched the pendant round her neck, a pendant which, he knew, held a lock of Lucius's white-blond hair. Her chest rose, slowly, as she took a deep, calming breath. "Draco --"

"Maybe you should just leave," he said, standing. He couldn't explain it, but quite abruptly his head had started to ache, the pain pinpointed right between his eyes. "You can at least say you tried."

Narcissa stood quickly, nose in the air, but her eyes were shining with tears. "Good day, Draco," she said imperiously. "Remember what I said about inappropriate witches."

"I never forget." He bent and placed a dignified kiss on her cheek, and she swept out the door without another word.

When he returned to his bedroom, eager to pick up where he and Ginny had left off, he found her sitting at the edge of the bed, fully dressed, tying on her shoes. He stopped dead in the doorway. "Where do you think you're going?"

"This isn't going to work," she said, not quite looking at him. Her hair was still loose, and hiding most of her face from his sight. "We can't do this anymore."

He folded his arms across his chest. "So that's it. You're just going to leave."

"Draco --" She spun, eyes flashing as she glared at him. "It's not worth it. We almost got caught by your _mother_, of all people."

"But we didn't get caught," he pointed out, trying to remain calm. "And we'll be more careful in the future."

"In the future?" She snorted and stood up, pulling her hair back with a tie at the base of her neck. "No. We're putting far too much effort into something that's just a casual shag every now and then. It's not worth risking the fury of our families so we can get off a few times."

A casual shag? A _casual_ shag? "You don't mean that."

"As a matter of fact, I do." She flattened her hands against her clothes, smoothing them out. "I have a boyfriend who loves me and would be devastated if he found out I was cheating on him. You have...well, I don't know who you --"

"No, you don't mean that." He pushed away from the doorframe and strode towards her. "I'm not all right with this, you leaving."

"Oh please, Malfoy," she spat, but she backed away one step. "Why waste your time with me when I know you can have just about any witch in Britain?"

"I don't want to have any witch in Britain," he said stubbornly.

Ginny snorted and rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't tell me. Next you're going to say, And Malfoys always get what they want. Tell me, then. What is it that you want?"

He stood right in front of her, not letting her look away. "I want you to know," he said, "that there's a difference between casual shagging and mind-blowing sex."

Draco loved watching as her self-control started to crumble; they seemed to have that reciprocal effect on each other in spades. She released a shaky breath. "Mind-blowing?" she breathed. "You -- you flatter yourself, Malfoy."

"And you don't give yourself enough credit," he said with a smirk. He snaked one arm around her waist and drew her towards him, until they were effectively pinned together.Then, wiping the smirk from his face, he dipped his head to the curve of her throat, brushing feather-light kisses on her soft skin.

"Oh," she sighed, and it was the most beautiful sound in the world. She reached up and clung to his shoulders to stay standing. "That's not fair," she murmured, rubbing her cheek against his. "You know it isn't."

"It's not casual." He met her eyes again, desperate to see that she really wasn't going to leave him. What would he do if she did? Would he be content to live the rest of his life with just his dreams? "This isn't casual in the least."

Ginny laughed awkwardly. "I know it isn't," she whispered. "I'm just -- this is too much sometimes, you know?"

He did, but he wasn't about to admit it. "Then you won't leave?"

She shook her head and twined her arms round his neck. "Who would've thought that the icy Draco Malfoy was so insecure?" she teased.

"I certainly have no idea what you're talking about," he said, right before he kissed her.

Curiously, his pounding headache vanished as he did.


	8. Gracious Idol

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Seven - Gracious Idol**

"_If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully."_

George waited until Harry and Ginny were both out of earshot before he turned to Luna. "Have you noticed something different about Ginny?" he murmured. They were on dishwashing duty for the evening, since they all insisted that Molly rest herself after putting on the massive meals that she did at the Burrow. "I mean, doesn't she look happier these days?"

Luna hid a smile. Ginny did indeed look happier -- more than that, she looked absolutely radiant. She could tell when Ginny had just been with Draco, and not because her hair was erotically tousled or she had that post-coital afterglow; Draco was making her happy in other ways. Luna had listened on in envy as Ginny told her about slow dancing to music on the Wizarding Wireless, or drinking wine together and just talking, or the way they held each other in their arms. Luna considered herself a good authority on reading other people's emotions, and she knew without a doubt that Ginny was falling head over heels in love with Draco, and he with her.

When she nodded to George, he seemed to release a breath. "She deserves to be happy," he said, making a determined swish with his wand. The sink started filling itself, though some water sloshed out and onto the floor. "After everything she went through during the war --"

"We all deserve to be happy," Luna said lightly, mopping up the puddle he had made. When he didn't say anything straight away she looked at him and saw that his face had fallen.

She touched his arm, for a moment truly worried. "George --?"

"There's a reason, you know," he began, not quite meeting her eyes. "Why I haven't asked you to marry me yet."

Luna sighed. "George --"

"No, you need to hear it." He looked again towards the living room, where the rest of the Weasleys and their spouses were all gathered. "It -- it just doesn't seem right to be happy when Fred and Angelina are so depressed."

She had suspected it was something like that. Angelina had burst in tears just days ago, crying in Molly's arms, because yet another month had gone by without any success. Fred had looked about to break down himself. Since they had been married three years ago, they had been trying to have children with the hope and energy of any newlywed couple. Angelina had only started crying every month six months ago, when it seemed that their dreams of having a family were not to be. Tonight, of course, they were both the center of the gathering, with Fred relating some story about a finicky customer at Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes and Angelina inserting commentary with her own dry humor. They hid their anguish exceedingly well.

"It's fine, George," Luna said. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and smiled up at him. "We can't all be Ginny and -- Harry."

He snorted. "If _anyone_ deserves to be happy, it's definitely Harry, poor bloke."

Luna only chuckled in agreement and hoped that George didn't realize she had been about to say another man's name.

* * *

Ginny began her nightly ritual almost automatically now, without even stopping to berate herself the way she used to. They had gone out to some Muggle dance club for a change of scenery, and she had found herself comparing the way the dancers ground against each other to sex. They were making love with each other on the dance floor, those pretty strangers with their painted faces and tight clothes, seeking to forget their daylight toils and simply exist for a few hours. What happened to these people when they weren't dancing? Could they really only let their true selves show to the other wanderers they met by moonlight?

Harry must have made the same mental comparison. When they started dancing together, her back to his front, his hand sliding up and down her thigh, he was soon kissing her with abandon. She allowed it to happen, letting his need for her wash over and around her body without feeling any of the effects. He was too drunk to Apparate them himself so she did it, taking them to his flat rather than hers, because she wouldn't be able to bear it if she had Harry with her and could smell Draco on her pillows.

Her ritual began in this way. She kept her eyes closed while he kissed her, and told herself, _I'm running my hands through his fine blonde hair. It's mostly straight, but there's a slight curl to it at the base of his neck._ And gradually, Harry's coarse hair became soft, so soft, slightly longer, smelling of something cool and herbal.

When he started undressing her, she thought, _He always knows where to touch me. His fingers are long and graceful, and slightly callused from playing Quidditch._ And the hands that skimmed over the curves of her body became long-fingered, smooth. Unmistakably his.

As he shifted himself on top of her, and she could feel his weight pinning her down into the bed -- _He is perfect. I've searched his whole body and I can't find a single flaw._

They moved deliberately, with the ease that came from knowing one another intimately, all while Ginny kept her eyes closed and went through her routine. There were his eyes that spoke so much more than any of his words, and the curve of his jaw, and the arch of his back; minuscule things that all added up to make him what he was. And when she was ready, she opened her eyes and there he was, over her, within her, all around her.

"I love you, Ginny," he said, his gray eyes full of emotion.

She shuddered and arched into him, needing him like her next breath. "Oh God," she whispered, "I love you so much."

He tasted like sweet things, always, and she often wondered what he ate to make him taste so. She loved kissing him after they drank hot chocolate together, and she could tell he did too. He filled her completely when he was inside of her, as though he had been made to be with her and she with him. They moved in perfect harmony, her hips raising slightly to meet his, her legs locked around the small of his back. His lips on her lips were ambrosia, his hands on her skin a heaven in itself. When they finally came they came together, gasping into each other's ears as they rose towards something that was bigger than just the two of them, something that was bright and beautiful and all too fleeting.

He rolled off of her and she ached inside, missing him already. And without her permission, the illusion unraveled itself, uncoiling from her heart and soul. She closed her eyes and turned away to prolong the process, but when he spooned against her and wrapped one arm over her, she knew it wasn't him. It didn't smell like him, didn't feel like him. Her stomach twisted sickeningly, and her heart pounded in her head.

Ginny opened her eyes and looked out his bedroom window. It wasn't Albany, it was Harry's little flat in Diagon Alley. It was Harry's slowing breath that brushed over her skin.

"Love you," he murmured, dropping a kiss behind her ear, before he sank into slumber.

She fought to keep from sobbing.

* * *

Snow always made her want to stay indoors and spend the entire day curled up in her comforter, reading a book or magazine or doing something equally unproductive. Outside the world was a winter wonderland, the sky the color of slate, the air bitterly cold and biting. It was a good thing Bill had thought to include strong heating charms in the wards when he had set them up for her.

Draco's preference for sleeping on his stomach had been a problem at first, since there was nothing she wanted more than to curl up with her head on his chest, but they had eventually worked it out. She was the one on her back, and his head was nestled in the crook of her neck and shoulder, his left arm draped over her protectively. She could tell he wasn't asleep by his breathing, and even though she was tired she couldn't sleep either. She wondered what he was thinking.

Casually, she reached up and brushed her fingers down his left forearm, feeling the smooth skin and fine hairs there. He tensed imperceptibly. "I want to see it, Draco," she whispered.

He lifted his head to look at her, and purposely misconstrued her words. "But Gin," he said, smirking, "I thought you were already well-acquainted with my --"

"Draco." Her hand closed over his wrist. "I want to see it."

They stared at one another silently for several moments. At last, he mumbled an oath under his breath before shifting slightly and grabbing his wand from the bedside table. She watched as he pointed it at his arm and then, before her eyes, the Glamour Charm melted away to reveal an angry black tattoo, almost looking like a never-healed scar. His Dark Mark.

He tossed his wand back onto the bedside table and sat up, his arm extended out in front of him. "There," he said, chin lifted. "That's what you wanted to see, isn't it?"

Pulling the sheet to her chest, Ginny sat too, and took his arm in her hands. She traced the edges with her fingertip, feeling him tremble slightly under her light touch. "When did you get it?" she asked, mesmerized by the sinister twist of the snake.

"The summer before my sixth year," he said, sounding somewhat distant. "It was an entire ceremony, me and Crabbe and Goyle got it the same night. Their fathers were so proud."

"_He_ gave it to you?"

"Yes. It was the first time I'd ever met him face-to-face." Draco paused, then said calmly, "He scared the shite out of me."

Ginny snorted. "I don't think you're alone on that one," she said, tracing next the orbitals of the skull. "Did it hurt?"

Again, he hesitated. "He used the tip of his wand and, I don't know, some kind of modified branding spell. Hurt like the devil."

"But he's gone now," she said thoughtfully. She laid her palm flat against the Dark Mark and looked up at him, startled to find fear in his eyes. "He's not coming back again."

"No, he's not," Draco said. "Gin --"

She bent and pressed a kiss to that ugly black mark, the only flaw on his body, then put his hand on the side of her face, fingers threaded through her hair. "Draco, I don't care if you have the Dark Mark," she said.

He sagged, ever so slightly, as though he had been waiting for her to say something similar. "That isn't just your misplaced Gryffindor courage speaking, is it?" he said dryly.

"No, that's your Slytherin instinct not trusting me." She leaned in and brushed a kiss on his lips. "I know you were never a Death Eater, not in the true sense, and that's good enough for me."

He looked at her as though he had never seen her before, and she was amazed that he could still do that, after having known her since she was eleven, after being together for almost seven weeks. He opened his mouth to speak, and she wondered what he would say, but instead he lowered his head and kissed her back. What he had been going to say flowed out through his lips and into her, and she knew his actions were more eloquent than any mere words could have been. And for now, it was all right. For now, she would pretend he had already said those three words.

* * *

There was a knock at the door and Ron shuffled in, blinking sleepily at the light Hermione had lit in her small home office. "Mione, it's almost two in the morning," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Come to bed?"

"In a minute," she said, stifling a yawn. "There's just a few more things I want to look up..."

He chuckled affectionately and stepped further into the room. "It's always 'just a few more things,'" he said, grinning. "You're not a superhero, Hermione. You have to sleep sometimes."

"But --" She sighed. "One more thing."

"Only one."

"Yes, and you can help me with it." She gestured to the other chair in the room and Ron slumped into it, the legs of his Chudley Cannons pajama bottoms riding up. "You're her brother. Have you noticed that Ginny looks peaky whenever we see her?"

"Peaky?" Now he was more awake, frowning at her. "Er..."

"Like she's got a stomachache," she clarified. "I've noticed that she looks a bit green, even, when we eat over at the Burrow. Haven't you seen it?"

He pondered this a moment, thinking back to the last time they had seen her, and decided -- well, there _had _been that time when she had turned down Molly's famous rice pudding, claiming she was tired and wanted to leave early. She had looked...faded. "Yeah," he said slowly, drawing out the word. "She has."

"I'm just worried about her," Hermione said. "Because -- well, it seems like it's not just when we see her. Harry told me the other day that she seems a bit peaky all of the time."

"Hm." Ron scratched the back of his neck. "Wonder why that is?"

"Well, I have a theory, but I really hope it's not true," Hermione began, looking down at the notes she had made for herself.

Ron leaned forward in his chair. "You -- you don't think it's something serious?" he said worriedly.

"What? Oh! No, not at all," she assured him. "No -- I think she might be pregnant."

"Oi." He squeezed his eyes shut. "What did I tell you about mentioning Harry, Ginny, and shagging in the same sentence?"

"Oh really, Ron," Hermione huffed, standing up and moving to the other side of the desk. "Think about it: she's peaky every day without any signs of getting any worse or better, and it's only been in the past few weeks that this has happened."

"But -- you said you hoped it wasn't true," Ron said, frowning. "Mum will be over the moon, soon as she's done yelling at Gin about not being more careful."

"Well, Harry has been waiting for the perfect moment to propose," Hermione explained patiently. "When Ginny discovers she's pregnant, she's going to have to tell him, and Harry will be pressured to ask her as soon as possible so they can be married before she starts showing. It would ruin his plans."

"Oh." He rubbed his eyes again. "Wow. Harry and Gin, starting a family."

"They'll make wonderful parents," Hermione said wistfully.

Ron picked up on her tone and pulled himself to his feet, giving her a lusty wink. "What do you say we try and start one of our own, love?"

Hermione blushed and giggled, as she let Ron lead her towards their bedroom.

* * *

When Harry walked into Luna's flat alone, Ron and George both frowned. "Where's Gin?" Ron asked. "Not feeling well again?"

"She's on the last few chapters of a 'really good book'," Harry said, using air quotes as he sat down at the table with the rest of them. "She said she'd join us -- wait." He looked up at the ceiling as he tried to remember. "If she finished the book and the ending was happy, she'd come. But if she doesn't finish or the ending is too sad, she sends her regrets." Harry shrugged and gave them a lopsided grin. "But I wasn't about to miss Luna's shepherd's pie, so I came anyway."

They all chuckled, especially Luna, who knew that, in fact, as they were all about to sit down to supper together, Ginny was laying in Draco Malfoy's arms at her flat. Poor Harry. Luna shook her head at his obliviousness and, when it came to serving the food, made sure he got an extra large helping of shepherd's pie.

Ever since the dinner at Ron and Hermione's months ago, the group of them -- "Weasleys the Younger," Fred had dubbed them -- had occasionally met for dinner on weekends. This time it was George and Luna's turn to host, and they were all there save Ginny and Fred and Angelina, who had to get up early to go see a Healer the next morning -- Angelina might finally have gotten pregnant. George pulled out a bottle of wine and they made several toasts, to the hope that Fred and Angelina were going to have a family, and that Ginny's book would have a happy ending.

"Now, Harry," George said, trying hard to be serious. It was far into the evening already, and all of them were fairly drunk save Hermione, who was still on her first glass. "When are you going to make Ginny an honest woman?"

Luna froze where she was seated on the sofa with George.

"Yeah Harry," Ron chimed in. "S'about time you did something about that."

"Uh." Harry drained his wineglass before answering. "I can't do it. I'm too nervous."

"What, d'you actually think she'd say no?" George laughed. "Arse over teacup for you. My sister." He hiccupped.

Luna's heart sank as she listened to the Weasleys go on in elaborate and not uncertain terms how much Ginny was in love with Harry. Were they really so blind? Could they not see how she edged away from him as often as she dared, so she didn't have to touch him? Did they not notice that she was mysteriously missing in increasingly recurring instances, and that she looked jubilant after each disappearance? They were her brothers for Merlin's sake, Luna thought sadly. They had lived with her since she was a child, had watched her grow up and become a woman from a close perspective that rivaled only that of her parents'. Was it possible that their little sister was a near stranger to them?

"She looked so pretty the other day," Harry was moaning. "She was wearing this -- this fantastic purple dress and she looked so fantastic..."

Luna had helped her pick out that dress. "Draco wants to go out to a restaurant," Ginny had said, her eyes sparkling. "I'll just heavily disguise myself with Transfigurations, and no one will know it's me. Have you ever been to Tantalus? Do you know the dress code there?"

"Tantalus?" Luna said, protuberant eyes widening. "Merlin, Ginny, that's one of the most exclusive restaurants in Diagon Alley. You have to look like royalty to get in there, and practically _be_ royalty to get a reservation."

That was when they had bought the dress, a plum-colored one that would go with the brown hair of her disguise. And Harry was right: Ginny had looked gorgeous in it, both as herself and as Draco's nameless flavor of the month. Later, her face soft with wonder and adoration, Ginny had whispered to Luna, "He loved it." She paused, a hand fluttering to her throat. "I could tell. He just loved it." That was all she had needed to say, and Luna understood perfectly. The next day there had been pictures of them in the _Daily Prophet_, and Draco obviously couldn't take his eyes off her.

"You're lucky, I guess," Luna said, cutting into the conversation. "For most wizards it's more like they need to propose and convince the parents than the witch."

Ron chuckled. "Harry's had Mum and Dad eating out of his hands for years. They barely hesitated before giving him their permission, isn't that right, Harry?"

"Yeah. I've got the ring, wanna see it?" Without waiting for an answer, he reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a small box. He opened it and allowed them to make flattering comments about the cut and style.

But Luna's blood ran cold as she gazed down at a ring she knew Ginny would never like. Dear Merlin, things had progressed further than she had thought, if Harry had already asked the Weasleys' permission and bought a ring. There was nothing else standing in his way. Why, he could very well ask Ginny to marry him tomorrow, and she would be unable to give him a reason to say no without blowing her entire secret out of the water.

Now Harry was rambling drunkenly about how Ginny was so amazing, and how he'd never want to be with anyone else but her. George and Ron both nodded, draining their glasses, and Hermione looked on, her face set in a slight frown. Luna wondered what she was thinking, but only briefly.

Her plan was this: she would tell Draco. There was nothing else for it. He was the one that wanted to keep seeing her, so he would be forced to make a move if he knew Harry was moving in with a marriage proposal.

Absently, Luna wondered how Ginny faked it when she was with Harry.

Maybe Draco would insist that Ginny tell Harry about her affair, and they would go public. Then a centuries-old blood feud could end at last, and Ginny would name their first child after her...

Luna sighed and leaned into George's warm chest. She'd had too much to drink. But one thing was certain: she was going to tell Draco about Harry's intentions. And things would happen.

* * *

He found out in the last way Ginny had wanted him to.

They were meeting at his set that time, on a Sunday afternoon. Molly wasn't feeling well, so all of them had immediately declined her invitation to come to the Burrow for their customary brunch regardless, insisting that she rest. Ginny had taken the opportunity to send Luna to Draco and set up a visit. She hadn't seen him since Wednesday, and she was aching to be with him.

When he bid her enter, she found him sitting in the parlor, gazing intently at the _Daily Prophet_. His jaw was clenched, a muscle twitching dangerously. That should have been the first hint.

"Hello," she said.

He stood and thrust the paper into her hands. "This is true, I presume?" he said, his voice coldly aloof. "The photograph hasn't been doctored in any way?"

Ginny frowned at him before looking down to see a gigantic picture of her and Harry, kissing ardently while shopping in Diagon Alley. Both of her arms were wrapped tightly around him, his hands were in her hair, and they were going at it quite enthusiastically. The headline of the accompanying story was _Wedding Bells in the Near Future for the Boy Who Lived?_ She felt sick to her stomach at the sight.

Raising her eyes to his, she began, "Draco --"

"No, you know what? I don't want to hear any of your excuses." He snatched the paper away from her and marched over to the fireplace, where he threw the offending trash into the blaze. "You can leave now. I have suddenly remembered a pressing appointment."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Ginny cried, anger building within her. "You've known from the start that I'm not seeing you exclusively. _You're_ the other man in this equation, not him!"

He moved until he was standing directly in front of her, eyes frosty enough to freeze water. "That doesn't mean you had to look like you were enjoying it so much," he shot back.

"You're being a child about this, you know that?"

"I have every right to voice a complaint," he declared. "Do you think I like seeing that sort of thing first thing Sunday morning? Put me off my breakfast, is what it did."

"Harry is my boyfriend," she said. "How many times do I have to explain that to you? We've been seeing each other for --"

"Is he a better kisser?" Draco said abruptly. There was a strange light in his eyes, one that scared and thrilled her at the same time. "Does he make you moan the way I do?"

Ginny felt color come to her cheeks, and she couldn't meet his gaze anymore. She knew that was the worst of her infractions: that she continued to sleep with Harry, even if it was Draco she was imagining while she did.

He correctly interpreted her silence. "You still sleep with him," he said flatly.

She turned and headed for the door. "Maybe you'd better go to your pressing appointment," she snapped.

He grabbed her hand and twisted her arm behind her back, pressing her chest up uncomfortably against his. "Do you fuck him?" he said again, as she struggled to get away. "I'm not letting you go until you answer me, damnit."

"Draco --"

"_Do you --_"

"Yes!" Ginny shrieked, looking him directly in the eye. "We _fuck_, Draco! I don't have to fake the orgasms! I scream his name when I come!"

With a wordless roar he shoved her away from him and started pacing the room restlessly, pushing his hands through his hair and muttering under his breath. She watched him as she cradled her bruised arm. She had heard the stories of his legendary temper, so she slipped one hand into her wand pocket, ready to draw it and defend herself.

"How dare you," he said at last, stopping and glaring at her. He was shaking he was so furious. "How --"

"Oh please, Malfoy," she spat. "As if you haven't been shagging society slags left and right when I'm not with you. I'm not an idiot."

"Evidently you are," he cried. "Have you seen me with one in the papers? No. _You're_ the one who got her face plastered all over the _Prophet_ snogging someone else, not me."

Ginny blinked, reeling from his admission. Somehow, she had simply expected that he was cheating on her, that there were other women. Dear Merlin. He had been faithful, and she had just flung Harry in his face. She pressed a hand to her forehead, wondering how she could go about fixing this. "Draco --"

He grabbed her wrist suddenly and started dragging her towards his bedroom. Roughly, he threw her into the room and slammed the door behind them, the windows rattling from the force. In one stride he was in front of her, pulling her into his arms; she tried to wrestle free but his grip was like iron.

He yanked her head back. "I'll make you forget he ever touched you," he whispered, sounding like a man possessed, before slamming his lips onto hers.

Ginny moaned into his mouth, despite the way her heart was hammering in her chest. She had never seen him like this before, and while it was incredibly sexy, it was horrifying too. She tried to put her arms around him, but in a few quick motions, too quick to follow or stop, he had ripped off her shirt, tossed her onto his bed, and tied her hands to the headboard with it.

"Merlin, Draco --" she began breathlessly.

"Don't talk unless I tell you to," he said, and with a loud rip he removed her bra. He kissed her lips again, then worked his down across her jaw, her neck, her clavicle, until he reached her breasts. Ginny gasped and arched against him as he took one in his mouth, swirling his tongue around her already hardened nipple. With his hand he lavished the other, cupping the weight in his palm and squeezing. She flung her head back against the pillows, panting, and he said gruffly, "Like that, Gin?"

"Oh God," she groaned, unable to say anything more.

He pulled away from her for a moment, and when she opened her eyes she saw he was removing his own shirt, revealing his pale chest and shoulders. Ginny shuddered, aching to put her arms around him, but he seemed determined to leave her tied up and remain in control. Next were the rest of his clothes, removed with his inimitable grace and ease of movement; she moaned when she saw how much he wanted her. With a sharp yank he pulled off her trousers and panties, flinging them onto the floor with the rest of their clothing.

He moved up to her again and placed searing, open-mouthed kisses down her stomach, until he stopped to trace a wet circle around her navel. The kisses sent shockwaves all through her body, clear to her fingertips and toes, and Ginny couldn't stop shaking with the sensations she felt. Then, while she was still wracked with preliminary waves of pleasure, he slid his first finger into her. Ginny nearly screamed at the strength of her arousal.

The bed shifted, and his lips were near her ear when he spoke next. "Does he do this for you?" he whispered. While she fought to speak coherently he added a second finger, and curled both. Ginny literally saw stars. "Is this how he makes you writhe?"

"No," she gasped, straining against her bonds. "God, no, Draco, please."

There was a smile in his voice when he spoke. "Please what, Gin?"

"Please." She arched against his hand, digging her heels into the mattress. "I need you, please."

"Me? Not Harry?"

"Not Harry, you, _please_ --"

He kissed her then, until she could scarcely breathe, until she was dizzy from needing him and needing air. She whimpered into his mouth when his fingers slipped away from her, and then cried out as he pushed himself into her to the hilt, filling her completely. His groan rang in her ears, and she knew they were both so close, it would only take a few thrusts before they were falling over the edge. But he was motionless inside her. She wondered what he was waiting for when bliss was so near.

Experimentally, Ginny moved a little, but he stopped her with his hands on her hips. "No," he hissed, and they lay there until the intensity had faded somewhat. He looked up at her then, his face raw with emotion. "Why do you still sleep with him?" he said.

"I have to," she said, eyes watering. "I -- I pretend it's you, Draco. It's the only way I can do it."

He grunted and pulled himself almost wholly out of her, before pushing back in all the way. Ginny raised her hips to meet his, feeling the exquisite pressure building in every molecule of her body, waiting to be swept away. Merlin, how could she mistake what was fake for the real thing? Pretending Harry was Draco made it bearable, but when it really was Draco, there was nothing more extraordinary on earth.

But as they once again approached their climax, as Ginny was about to go mad with desire, he stopped them a second time. Ginny cried out in protest, but he silenced her with a kiss. "Does he suspect anything?" was his next question, after several agonizing, breathless moments.

"No, nothing," she said quickly, feeling her pleasure ebbing away yet again. "Luna and I are so careful, no one suspects a thing, God, _please_ Draco..."

He started moving again and she followed suit, their bodies synchronized in an ancient rhythm that sang through her veins and made her feel like her skin had melted away. She had become one with him, their bodies were forever joined. His breath was hot as a furnace on her shoulder, his hands lifting her hips up to meet his, he was all around her -- they were dancing.

He had one last question, but he did not stop this time to ask it. Gazing directly into her eyes, he asked, "Why are you with me, Ginny?"

She didn't hesitate to answer him. "Because I love you," she said, and then they were both falling, falling, holding fast to one another as everything became too much to humanly bear.

When she was returned to her body, she felt him untying her hands. Gratefully, she wrapped her arms around his neck, threaded her fingers through his hair, brushed a kiss on his forehead. "Did you mean it?" Draco whispered, his face buried in the crook of her throat.

She nodded. "Yes. I meant it."

There was a long silence as they simply held on, coming to grips with the way things were. Something had changed, something almost imperceptible as to be unnoticeable -- but things had changed, forever. "Severus told me..." Draco shifted up onto his elbow, so he could look down at her face. "He told me we could be cursed. We could die. From a retaliation from the blood feud."

She tightened her grip on him as she considered Snape's warning. Truthfully, she had forgotten entirely about the blood feud, because hiding their relationship from her family had trumped worrying about ancient curses or potential death. One look into his eyes, his beautiful, fathomless eyes, and she was convinced that he had forgotten until that moment too. They had a choice: to never be with each other again, marry their respective partners, and live healthy, normal lives, or, they could be together and risk everything they had.

The choice was an easy one.

Ginny brushed his hair back from his forehead. "I said it to you at the masquerade, and I'll say it again," she said softly. "I don't care. I don't care at all. I love you, Draco."

His eyelids fluttered shut briefly, before he gazed at her with all the strength of his emotions, and she could _feel_ how much he loved her. "I love you, Ginny," he said. He bent his head and touched his lips to hers.

They lay in bed together, clinging to one another and whispering _I love you_, for the rest of the afternoon, feeling relaxed and content.

Feeling as though they didn't deserve something like this.

Feeling like the loneliest people in the world.


	9. Sudden Haste

**Chapter Eight - Sudden Haste**

"_Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast."_

Not even snow and the threat of winter's wrath could keep them from playing Quidditch. Draco received Blaise's invitation to play with him and a bunch of other Slytherins they had gone to school with, and within hours he was in his old equipment, ready to play. Zabini Manor -- one of the many properties Blaise's mother had accumulated through her multiple marriages -- had been outfitted with an indoor Quidditch pitch with completely customizable weather conditions by Blaise's late father. When Draco walked into it that Thursday afternoon, looking up at the vast ceiling that reminded him of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, he saw Blaise had given them fairly challenging weather: the wind was fierce, visibility poor. It would be difficult to find the Snitch in this.

"Been bored recently, have you?" Draco said to Blaise, trying to ignore the nausea he had felt since yesterday afternoon.

Blaise chuckled, even as Warrington and Flint scowled up at the goal hoops. "Where's your sense of adventure, mate?"

"Checked it at the door," Bletchley said dryly. "This looks familiar though..."

"I was waiting for someone to notice." Blaise gestured to the pitch, his sleeve flapping in a strong gust of wind. "These are the exact conditions of the Slytherin-Gryffindor game from our sixth year, one of the last matches played at Hogwarts before the War."

Draco felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He remembered that match. He had just poisoned Katie Bell with the cursed necklace, so Dean Thomas had replaced her. The Weasel King had actually been able to play a decent game. And it had been the only time he had played against Ginny, with him as a Seeker, her a Chaser. Why did it seem like everything came back to her these days?

And _Merlin_, why wasn't the stomachache potion he had taken that morning working yet?

"Why that game?" Pucey argued. "What about the one my first year, the one that lasted four days? Charlie Weasley Seeking against Terence Higgs?"

"I'd rather we not talk about Weasels," Montague said, glaring at them all. Blaise snorted inelegantly, not bothering to hide it, and Draco remembered how Montague had spent several weeks traveling between the cupboards at Hogwarts courtesy the Weasley twins. He had never been quite the same since.

While the others all started arguing about which match's conditions they wanted to duplicate -- an argument they had at least every time they met to play together -- Draco turned from them and tried to breathe deeply and evenly. A headache was starting to build behind his eyes, in addition to his almost crippling nausea and a decided ache in all of his joints. He really was in no shape to play Quidditch, let alone Seek. He should have turned down Blaise's invitation.

But then again, he shouldn't have been feeling so poorly like this in the first place. In all his life he had had no more than a handful of colds, none serious; he had always prided himself on his excellent health. And yet lately, more and more often, he was suddenly struck by these painful headaches or migraines that came very quickly and left after a few hours. What was wrong with him?

"Draco?"

He turned and saw Bole and Blaise regarding him curiously, Blaise more so. "I asked you if you wanted to Chase," Blaise said, speaking carefully. Draco could tell he knew something was amiss. "Higgs might not be coming, so we might not have enough players for two Seekers. I wondered if you'd mind playing Brazilian rules and be a Chaser."

Before Draco could answer, there was a knock on the door back into the Manor. Blaise bid them enter, and a rectangle seemingly opened out of thin air. In came a house elf, bowing so low his nose brushed against the soft grass growing from the floor.

"Excuse me, masters," the little elf said, bowing again, "Master Draco is having a caller. She is saying it is oh-so important, Master Draco."

As soon as he heard it was a she Draco immediately thought of Ginny. But Ginny would never come to see him outside of their prearranged meetings, especially not at another Slytherin's home. Who could it be? "Uh oh, Malfoy," Derrick said, jabbing him in the ribs; Draco bit back a groan. "Twenty Galleons says it's some witch claiming you fathered her child."

"Do shut up, Derrick," Blaise said flatly, not even deigning to look at him. "Who is the visitor, Coggy?"

"A Mistress Luna Lovegood, Master Blaise," the elf replied.

All of the Slytherins burst into laughter at that. "Loony Luna?" Vaisey gasped, eyes tearing. "Wasn't she that batty Ravenclaw who wore vegetables in her ears?"

"What does she want from you?" Warrington asked. "Money to fund her idiotic, so-called magazine?"

Draco glared at all of them, daring them to consider that there was interest on his end, daring them to openly mock him. His heart had jumped at the mention of Luna's name, for it was by now inextricably linked with Ginny's, and it was all he could do to keep himself from running to find out what she had to say. What was so important? Was Ginny hurt?

He missed how intently Blaise was studying his face.

Draco eventually decided that they had had enough of a laugh. "The delusional girl thinks I do business dealings with vampires," he said loftily, to more scattered laughter. "She's come to see me several times already, trying to get a statement for that pitiful piece of trash she publishes."

"Send her away, Coggy," Flint said.

"No, I'll handle her," Draco said, sounding as though it was the very last thing he wanted to do. "She won't go away otherwise. I speak from experience."

"We'll have the match set up by the time you get back," Flint said, and Draco nodded as he followed Coggy off the pitch and into Zabini Manor.

"Mistress Luna is being in the front parlor, Master Draco," Coggy said, somehow managing to bow and lead him at the same time. "She is being very secretive but it is very very important, she is saying."

Draco only nodded again, and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. A hundred thoughts ran through his mind, the possible contents of the message, if it was an emergency. Luna was no Gryffindor, but there was no way she would willingly walk into a Slytherin household unless the matter was serious.

She was looking at a portrait of Frederico Zabini, Blaise's father, when Draco entered the front parlor. Thankfully, she was not wearing the radish earrings -- although those looked suspiciously like butterbeer corks hanging round her neck. "Lovegood," he said with a sneer, while Coggy bowed and scraped his way out of the room. "How many time do I have to tell you --"

The moment the door closed behind the elf, Draco's demeanor changed completely. He closed the distance between them rapidly, not wasting a minute of their time. "What is it?" he said urgently. "Is Ginny all right?"

"Yes, I suppose she is," Luna said, giving him a dreamy smile. "At least, she was the last time I saw her."

"Then what's --"

"I came as soon as I could because I don't know how long you have," she said, still with that dazed voice of hers. "I didn't know about this before, or otherwise I would have come to tell you about it right away."

Draco was ready to start shaking her in frustration. "And?"

"Harry's going to ask Ginny to marry him."

He froze, suddenly incapable of movement or logical thought.

"He's bought the ring and asked Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's permission already too. There's nothing stopping him from asking her at any time. He could be asking her right now."

Draco sat down, hard, on the nearest chair, his eyes not quite focusing on anything. Rage, jealousy, desperation the likes of which he had never before known coursed through his limbs, and he clenched the arms of the chair until his knuckles were white. No. He couldn't. Ginny was his, not Potter's, she had told him so, and he knew now that she loved him -- dear God, that still gave him pause. She _loved _him, and Merlin knew he was absolutely obsessed with her.

He swallowed. "How long ago did --" The words stuck in his throat.

"I'm not sure," Luna said. "That is, I know he asked permission at Mr. Weasley's nomination ball, but I don't know when he bought the ring. It's not the kind of ring Ginny would like anyway."

The words were out of his mouth before he could think about them. "What kind of ring would she like?"

Luna's eyes widened. "Draco --"

"She's not marrying him," he said firmly, staring off at nothing. The very thought of Potter even touching her made his migraine worse. "I won't let her marry him."

"Are --" Luna gripped onto one of the butterbeer corks on her necklace. "Are you going to ask her to...?"

"I don't know. I'll have to think about it." Then, a split second later, again without realizing what he was saying, he blurted out, "I have a ring. Get her a white dress and come to Spinner's End in Manchester tonight at eleven. Severus Snape knows the proper spells."

Luna clapped her hands together, grinning broadly. "Oh Draco, I was hoping you'd say that."

He was sure that if he stopped to think about what he was doing his logic would have voiced some complaints, but rationality had fled him. Now that Luna had planted the idea, he couldn't get the visions out of his head: Ginny, wearing a flowing white dress, coming towards him. Her hair cascading around her face and shoulders, her eyes linked with his. Their wands crossed as Snape cast the Marital Charm. Her small, warm hands on his as she slid a golden ring on his finger.

He closed his eyes. He was going to marry her before tomorrow morning dawned.

"This might end the blood feud, you know," Luna said, eyes shining. "I've done some reading on the subject, and in some cases the feud needed a binding contract between houses to end."

"A binding contract... like a marriage," Draco said thoughtfully.

"Death is considered a binding contract too," she said with a sigh, as though she were talking about the weather. His breath caught. "But I prefer the marriage interpretation myself."

_So do I_, he thought. "Tell Ginny to come to my set at eight o'clock," he said, standing.

"She was going to have a girls' day out with me and Hermione."

"Cancel it. Cut it short." He pinched the bridge of his nose, praying that his headache would go away. "I trust you'll do exactly as I've asked."

Luna smiled serenely at him, her head tilted to one side. "She loves you so much, Draco," she said happily. "I can tell she does."

He opened his eyes and looked at her. Why had he ever thought that Luna was a bit soft? It was obvious to him, as he watched her, that she was possibly more aware of what was going on around her than anyone else. There was a lucidity in her eyes that startled him. She knew. She just _knew_.

Draco cleared his throat. "I -- know, she told me," he said stiffly. "You have to go now, before they start suspecting something."

"All right." She floated towards the door, but stopped and turned back. "And Draco?"

"Yes?"

"Don't punish Hob. That's the elf that told me where you were when I went to your set. He's a good little elf."

He gave her a wry smirk. "I promise I won't." She smiled again and waved, and left the room.

It almost seemed like he had Apparated from the front parlor back into the Quidditch room, for later he realized he had no recollection of walking through Zabini Manor. Ginny occupied his thoughts fully, as he thought of how he would propose to her that night. Would she say yes? Had Potter already asked her? And if he hadn't and she agreed to marry him, would she mind that Draco wanted to marry her that same night?

The Quidditch pitch was empty when he arrived, and when he looked up into the sky there was no one there either. Frowning, he shielded his eyes from the now-brilliant sunshine, wondering what had happened to their game.

A small, dark speck appeared to his right, zooming closer, until he could see that it was Blaise, still wearing his pads under a Falmouth Falcons jersey. With practiced ease he landed smoothly on the ground before Draco, barely out of breath.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Where --?"

"I sent them home, they were annoying me," Blaise said airily, slinging his broom over his shoulder. "And now that I've got you alone, you've got a lot of talking to do."

"About what?" Draco said angrily. "What in Merlin's name --"

Blaise leaned back and laughed, shaking his head. "It's a bit amusing, really, to think that you thought you could hide things from me. Let's go somewhere more comfortable." He reached out for Draco's arm before Draco could pull away, and Apparated them to the library.

"I've had my suspicions for some time now," Blaise began. He set his broom down on a table and started removing his Quidditch gloves. "Lovegood's visit today confirmed everything."

"Confirmed _what_?"

Blaise met his glare steadily. "I spoke with your secretary, Mrs. Blackburn, a few weeks ago. She told me that you had sent several dozen bouquets of flowers to the _Quibbler_'s offices less than a week after Weasley's nomination ball. I was immediately suspicious -- suspicious and confused, as I know Lovegood is dating one of the Weasley twins and it's quite serious."

Draco folded his arms across his chest. "I'm listening," he said, with a steely voice.

"So I asked myself, why is Draco sending Loony Lovegood flowers?" Blaise tossed his gloves onto the table with his broom and seated himself in a high-backed chair. "Why does he seem a bit different lately? Could she have anything to do with it?" He smiled smugly. "And then I saw the dress."

Draco's hands clenched into fists and he sat across from him, frowning.

"I had Luna followed," Blaise said blandly, "and she was followed, one Wednesday afternoon, going into Madam Malkin's with Ginny Weasley, who later came out with a set of formal plum-colored robes. Days later, I saw that same, rather unique dress on the front page of the society section of the _Daily Prophet_, worn by 'Draco Malfoy's latest fling.' After that, it was a matter of filling in the blanks -- where it was you went all those weekends and afternoons you were mysteriously unavailable -- and here we are."

A muscle twitched in Draco's jaw as he looked away and out the window. He knew when he was stuck and there was no way out of a situation, and all he could do was fight back with everything he had -- this was most certainly one of those times. "So," he said slowly, plotting his escape, "you've caught me."

"You're flirting with death associating with Ginny Weasley," Blaise said. His dark eyes were flat and serious. "Is that why you didn't tell me you were seeing her?"

"Didn't realize I had to run everything by you first," Draco said petulantly.

"Bloody grow up, will you?" Blaise cried. "I'm your best mate, and you've been doing this whole thing by yourself when you didn't need to." He paused. "It's because we're Slytherins, isn't it? You thought I'd go straight to your mum if I knew about you and Ginny, because that's the Slytherin thing to do."

"If it was you," Draco said, leaning forward in his seat, "and you had a secret, wouldn't you keep it from me?"

"No, I wouldn't," Blaise said boldly, not looking away. "You're my best friend. I hardly keep anything from you and you know that."

Draco huffed indignantly and sank back into his chair. Blaise was right. He knew Blaise was right. And he knew he had been foolish to keep something so important from him. "The Quaffle is in your end, then," he said, steepling his fingers. "What do you want to know?"

"I want to know if you're aware of what you're doing," he said. "I can tell you're in great physical pain right now --"

"I feel --"

"Didn't I just get through saying how you can't hide anything from me?" Blaise said, smirking a little. "I'm perfectly serious, Draco. That pain you feel, whatever it might be? It's from the unresolved blood feud between the Malfoys and Weasleys."

Draco raised his eyebrows. Somehow, subconsciously, he had come to the same conclusion, but he hadn't dared voice it. Saying it out loud made it more real, and made this whole thing bigger than just him and Ginny. "How do you know?"

"My stepfather -- the fifth, to be precise, Gareth Samarkand, remember him? -- his house was involved in a blood feud as well, with House McWhite. He could always tell when a McWhite was nearby because he got horrible headaches."

Suddenly, a lifetime of strange twists in his stomach had been diagnosed. Throughout their years at Hogwarts, Draco had always felt slightly off when he had been near Ron Weasley, or any of his siblings for that matter, but he had explained it away as being so disgusted by them that they literally made him ill. "Merlin," he said. He was too astounded to say anything more.

"That's why the least intelligent thing you could do is spend time with Ginny Weasley," Blaise went on. "Being with her is killing you."

"No --" Draco frowned a moment, then shook his head. "Actually -- no. The only time I _don't _get headaches is when I'm with her. They vanish the moment I see her."

Blaise paused at that, his lips parted in surprise. "But that's --"

"The truth," Draco said. "It's the exact opposite reaction of what it used to be. And I didn't feel anything when I went to the masque, when all nine Weasleys were in the same room as me. When I'm with her..." He shrugged. "Maybe that means the feud magic is wearing off. It is rather old, after all."

Blaise frowned down at the carpet, lost in thought a moment. "You know," he said at last, "Gareth told me that, often, a feud needs either a marriage or a death to be fulfilled."

Draco smirked. "And why do you suppose I just had a visit from Luna Lovegood?"

"She thinks you should marry Ginny."

"Got it in one."

"Draco --" It was Blaise's turn to edge forward in his seat, just a hitch. "You barely know her. Even if there was no blood feud magic involved in this, don't you think you're rushing a bit?"

Draco laughed, a soft, genuine smile stretching across his face. "Tell me," he said, amused, "when did you know Daphne was the one for you? The woman you wanted to marry?"

"First time we shagged," Blaise said bluntly. "No -- the second. I wanted to make sure the first time wasn't a fluke."

"You would, you randy sod," Draco retorted. Blaise only chuckled. "But _how_ did you know?"

"Well..." Blaise crossed his legs. "I just did. I could see myself growing old with her."

"And you can't even entertain the thought of being with another woman," Draco prompted.

"No."

"And just smelling the shampoo she uses is enough to make you randy as hell."

Blaise snorted. "Too true," he agreed.

"And even when she makes you absolutely livid with anger, you can't help but give her everything you have," he said, looking down at his left arm. "You can't sleep at night unless she's there, lying beside you. You'd do anything to make her laugh, or make her give you that smile she reserves just for you. You cease to exist unless she's there with you, and when she is then the world becomes such an extraordinary place, you can't believe that you missed it before."

"Wow," Blaise said quietly. He was gazing at Draco with something akin to wonder in his eyes. "The great Ice Prince has thawed at last."

"I'm going to marry her," he said, testing out the words. They sounded so right, he couldn't believe he hadn't come up with the idea weeks ago. He had known the moment he had seen her at the masque, when she had looked so beautiful he had scarcely remembered to breathe. He had known the moment he had kissed her, surrounded by masked strangers, and the moment he felt how soft her freckled skin was, and the moment he had seen the candlelight in her eyes as they dined at Tantalus. Each of those moments had led him here, and had left him with only one possible conclusion: he was going to be with her for the rest of his life. He was going to marry her.

"What do you need me to do?" Blaise said.

Draco could not have said then how much he appreciated Blaise's offer, for the right words would not come. He couldn't believe he had been granted a friend like him. Instead, Draco said, "Well, I want Snape to perform the ceremony -- tonight, if at all possible..."

* * *

"Sorry I'm late," Luna said brightly, taking the third seat at their table. Ginny raised her eyebrows at her as she settled herself, and Luna winked back. Ginny ducked her head to hide from Hermione the wide grin that threatened to split her face in half.

"That's all right, we haven't ordered yet," Hermione said, completely oblivious to their exchange. "Were you visiting George at the shop?"

"Yes," Luna said. "They're fairly busy, though, so I didn't stay long."

A waitress approached their table then, so all three of them dove into their menus to choose their entrees and drinks. Ginny barely saw any of the words on the page before her, ecstatic as she was that Luna had a message from Draco. It was rare that he initiated contact with her; usually it was the other way around, because the only way Draco could reach Luna without raising suspicion was at her office at the _Quibbler_.

"And for you, miss?" the waitress said. Hermione and Luna sat expectantly, having already given their orders.

"Oh, er --" She did a quick scan of the menu. "The fish and chips is fine."

"And to drink?"

"A butterbeer, please." Something in Hermione's face changed at that, and Ginny frowned at her while the waitress took away their menus and went to place their order.

"Are you sure you should be drinking butterbeer?" the older girl burst out.

Ginny gave a nervous chuckle. "Er... Fairly sure..."

"I mean --" Hermione bit her lip and looked at Luna, but Luna only gazed vacantly back at her. "Isn't butterbeer a bit strong?"

"Strong? 'Mione, we drank it as children, I hardly think --"

"But Ginny," she said quietly, leaning in. Luna leaned in too. "Won't it be bad for the baby?"

Ginny blinked. It was the very, _very_ last thing she had thought Hermione would say. "I, uh..." She blinked again, shocked speechless for several seconds. "I didn't know my drinking a butterbeer would affect your baby, 'Mione."

"No no," Hermione said, waving her hands, flustered, "I'm not pregnant, you are!"

That startled her even more. "What?"

"Wouldn't Ginny know if she was pregnant?" Luna said. The dazed tone remained in her voice, but she was giving Ginny a look that said she was anything but inattentive to the conversation.

"You're right Luna, I would," Ginny said, looking at them both. "And I can say that I most definitely am _not_ pregnant."

"But how do you know?" Hermione pressed. "You've looked peaky the past few weeks, and you get tired so easily --"

"I know because I'm on the strongest contraceptive potion known to wizardkind," Ginny said dryly. "You don't think I'm ignorant of the famed Weasley fertility, do you?"

"Even the strongest potions aren't one hundred percent foolproof," Hermione said, slipping into lecture mode. "There's a very slim chance you could be."

For a moment her throat seized, and frantic thoughts ran through her mind at an alarming rate -- _Am I pregnant? Whose is it? What will Harry and Draco say? What will Mum think? What am I going to do?!_ But then she leaned back and laughed, shaking her head at the concerned look on her friends' faces.

"I'm not pregnant," Ginny said calmly, "because I just had my period last week."

Luna sagged visibly in her seat, eyes closed. Hermione was less certain, and continued to worry her lip between her teeth. "Ginny --"

"I really don't want to talk about it," Ginny interrupted her. She fought to keep from wincing at the headache that was forming at the base of her neck. Merlin, why was she getting so many of them these days? "I appreciate your concern, but I'm not pregnant, and I'm not planning to be pregnant in the immediate future, so I'd like to enjoy my butterbeer in peace."

"I'm really sorry," Hermione said, somewhat sheepish but completely sincere. "You know I was just looking out for you."

"I know. I'm sorry I was a bit shirty with you." Their conversation moved on to other things, and the incident was forgotten.

Or almost forgotten. While they worked through their late lunch, Ginny's mind spun back to what Hermione had said. What had made her think she was pregnant, for Merlin's sake? True, she had been feeling off and not completely well for weeks...and her appetite was suffering...and she was tired nearly all of the time... Perhaps Hermione did have the grounds for such a shocking theory. How many other people shared her suspicion?

After their meal and before the waitress returned with their desserts, while Hermione excused herself to visit the loo, Luna inched her chair towards Ginny's. "Tonight at eight," she whispered.

"Okay," Ginny said, and another foolish grin broke out on her face.

"I think you should wear something special for this too," Luna said cannily. "Wear makeup and a nice set of robes."

She raised an interested eyebrow. "Any reason?"

"None that I can tell you," Luna said, smiling. "Only, right now, I am the most jealous witch in England."

Ginny giggled and playfully smacked her arm. "Luna!"

Hermione returned, so they cut themselves short and picked up their last topic, which was Angelina and Fred.

"Angelina said they had an announcement to make next week," Luna said, stirring through her chocolate sundae looking for hooked-fang lissapats. "I hope that means what I think it does."

"I know, wouldn't it be wonderful?" Hermione said with a sigh. "They deserve it, after all the trying they've done, and the war and everything." She stopped then, and looked around them at the cafe. No one was paying them particular attention, despite the fact that she was one of the most recognizable witches in Britain. Hermione turned back to them with a tentative smile. "All right, what I'm going to say must not leave this table. I've already told Ron, but we want to be absolutely sure before we tell our parents." Drawing herself slightly upright, she said, "I'm pregnant."

"Oh, Hermione!" Ginny squealed in delight, and she pulled her sister-in-law into a giant hug. "That's fantastic! How far are you?"

"Barely two months, if it's not a false alarm," she said, once Luna had also given her congratulations. "I have an appointment with a Healer in two weeks."

"I'm going to be an aunt again," Ginny said, grinning. "I bet Ron is thrilled."

"Once I'd peeled his jaw off the kitchen floor," Hermione joked, "yes, he was. He is." She nudged Ginny. "What about you, Gin?"

"I told you I'm happy for you, 'Mione --"

"No, I mean you and Harry. When are you going to get married?"

And there they were, back on Ginny's least favorite subject. "How do you know we'll get married?" Ginny said, unable to think of anything else to say.

"Really, Gin," Hemione said, rolling her eyes. "You've been dating for so long, he's practically part of the family."

"I just remembered," Luna said abruptly. "Harry gave me a message for you. He tried to Floo you at your flat, but you had already left to come here."

"Oh?" Ginny said, wondering if it was true or just a means of changing the subject.

"Yes, Harry wanted to see you tonight." Luna gave her a look. "He said around eight?"

"Oh, we were going to go to the movies later," Hermione said, frowning.

"Looks like I'll have to leave early," Ginny said. "You two can have fun without me."

"We'll try," Hermione said, and they all laughed.

They paid for their meal and spent the rest of the afternoon strolling around Diagon Alley, occasionally ducking into little shops when something in the display window caught their eye. Ginny finally bought Harry's Christmas present -- a new broomstick servicing kit, since his old one was out of polish and the chamois had seen better days -- and, while Luna was distracting Hermione in another store, she picked out something for Draco. _Like he needs any more material possessions_, she thought, though worriedly. What could she possibly get for a man who was given anything he wanted on a silver platter? She bit her lip as she looked down at a leather-bound datebook, which included a calendar, address book, and personal journal. It was only just within her price range.

_Maybe he'll like it whatever it is_, she thought. _Because he loves me._

She clapped a hand over her mouth excitedly to hide her grin, hoping no one else had seen it. Merlin, how she loved him, and then to hear him whisper the same words back to her, over and over, as he kissed her and made love to her -- it was too much sometimes. She had never known she could be this happy, this joyous, this completely intoxicated with a man.

Ginny bought the datebook, and by the time Hermione had come forward with her own gift selections, she had shrunk it and stuck it in the pocket of her winter robes.

She left them at seven, ostensibly to make her meeting with Harry, but when Luna winked at her again she couldn't help but laugh out loud. It almost made her forget her splitting headache.

* * *

"I still wonder about why she's looking so peaky," Hermione said out of the blue, a half-hour after Ginny had left them. She and Luna had left Diagon Alley and were settling themselves into seats at a movie theater. "I believe her when she says she's not pregnant, but then what is making her feel so sick?"

"I don't know," Luna said, but secretly she had wondered that herself. Warily, she recalled all of the times she had asked Ginny out to lunch, only for Ginny to say that she wasn't feeling up to going out. And then she remembered seeing Draco whenever she delivered messages. He would often rub the bridge of his nose and breathe rather heavily than normal. As though he had a headache...

"I really hope it's not the flu or anything," Hermione said, frowning down at the popcorn they had bought. "I suppose, living in a Muggle building, she could have been exposed to it. But I'm not sure the symptoms are the same."

"She'll be fine," Luna said. "She's been through a lot worse. Remember the Department of Mysteries? The second time?"

Hermione nodded slowly as the movie previews started showing. Then, her face green from the light of the projector, Luna saw her face suddenly start in a look of horror. "Oh -- Luna!" She shoved the popcorn into Luna's hands and started down the row.

"Hermione --?"

"There's something I've got to look up!" Hermione cried, causing several people to hush her angrily. "I'll see you later, enjoy the movie!" she hissed.

Luna shrugged and turned back to the screen.

* * *

Ginny smoothed her hands down over her dress nervously. Taking Luna's suggestion seriously -- though she was dying to know just what was going on -- she had dressed more carefully than she ever had in her life. Her makeup was perfect: not too heavy, not too colorful, just enough to accentuate her almond-shaped eyes and high cheekbones. She had thought about wearing her plum robes again, or even running to Madam Malkin's to buy a new one, but in the end she had decided upon a simple but beautiful green dress that made her hair look a brighter shade of red. It was a floor-length sheath, with thin shoulder straps and a low back, and she had worn it last for some Ministry function months ago. With her hair loosely pulled back at the nape of her neck, she decided she was ready. It was almost eight.

As he asked her to, each time she came to Albany, she changed her physical appearance with Glamour Charms. Her hair became straight and near-black, her eyes a brilliant blue, her skin a shade or two darker. The doorman at the Piccadilly entrance barely blinked when she approached, and let her go through when she told him she was headed for Draco Malfoy's set.

She swallowed when she reached his door, shaking slightly in anticipation. There were no lights on inside from what she could see, and she wondered what was going on. Slowly, she reached up and knocked, three times, at his door.

There was the click of a lock from within, and the door opened of its own volition, gaping into pitch blackness. Ginny stepped into the dark foyer and the door shut again behind her. She couldn't see her own hand in front of her face. "Draco? Hello?"

"In here." His voice out of the silence made her jump. Carefully, making sure her Glamour Charms had been removed, she made her way towards what she saw now was the faint glow of a distant lamp.

She rounded the corner and found she had entered his dining room. "Hello, Gin."


	10. Like Lightning

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not mine, though I wish Draco Malfoy was.

**Chapter Nine - Like Lightning**

"_Do thou but close our hands with holy words/ Then love-devouring death do what he dare."_

The giant dining room table that had once dominated the room was gone, replaced by a much smaller table that the massive Oriental carpet on the floor dwarfed. Two chairs were pulled up to it, one on either side, and two place settings awaited diners. A single white candle glowed between the plates, providing the only light, and beside it was a pair of blood red roses, sitting in a narrow crystal vase. Platters of food covered the sideboard, charmed to stay hot for as long as was necessary, and the air was filled with the most delicious aromas.

Ginny's heart skipped a beat as she looked at the setup, and her hand fluttered to her neck. Draco had never done anything like this before, whatever this was. Had she forgotten something? Was it some kind of anniversary? She frowned and ran through a number of dates, but none of them matched.

He cleared his throat, making her jump again, and she finally saw him hidden in shadows at the other end of the room. He was dressed resplendently in black formal robes, making it seem as though his pale head was floating above nothing. Once he had her attention, he took a few steps towards her. "I though we'd stay in this evening," he said, his mellifluous voice warming her.

"Draco, this is --" She waved her hand at the room, speechless.

"Join me?" He gestured to one of the chairs. "The house elves will start an uprising if we don't eat soon."

Ginny laughed and stepped forward to go to the table. She promptly tripped over the edge of the rug and collapsed in an ungainly heap on the floor.

At least, that was what she would have done had Draco not moved with supernatural reflexes and caught her. Ginny's face burned bright red as he lifted her back to her feet, muttering something about "bloody Zabini" being soft in the head and crippling him later.

"God, what a klutz I am," she said, trying to joke about it. Her hands danced uselessly over her hair and dress, straightening and smoothing.

"No, it's the lighting," Draco said, and with a wave of his wand the normal lights came back on throughout the set. They both blinked at the change, until they could see comfortably once again. "Blaise told me eating by candlelight is romantic, but I can hardly see anything romantic about dining in the dark."

Inexplicably, Ginny was incredibly touched by the gesture, more so than she had been moments before. "You wanted to have a romantic dinner with me?" she said softly.

He wouldn't meet her eyes, which she knew now meant he was extremely embarrassed. "Well," he said, offhanded, guiding her to her chair and pushing it under the table once she was seated, "Blaise said women like that kind of thing, and it was the least embarrassing of his suggestions. You know I haven't a romantic bone in my body."

"And yet you're always saying that after having done the most incredibly romantic things ever," Ginny teased.

He sat across from her, his eyes shining in the candlelight. "Am I?"

She ticked them off on her fingers: "Well, there was the time you woke me up so we could look at the first snowfall of the year together --"

"I've always liked winter," he said stiffly.

"-- and the time we danced in my living room to that song on the Wireless --"

"You started that, not me."

"-- and the dinner at Tantalus --"

"They have excellent desserts."

Ginny stopped, grinning. "Well, if you're so determined to prove that you're a stick in the mud, then be that way."

"If you're quite through, I'm about to die of starvation," he retorted, though he ruined his act by allowing his lips to twitch slightly in a ghost of a smile. Ginny fell a little more in love with him when she saw it.

The food was as delicious as it smelled, served by the two house elves Draco employed to maintain his set. ("Yes, I do pay them," he had said when she asked, rolling his eyes. "Granger's got a lot to answer for.") After only three minutes, Ginny moved the roses and candle from the center of the table, in order to see Draco better.

"See?" he said, as he watched her blow out the flame and hand the vase and candle to a house elf. "All of the things Blaise suggested are going up in smoke. That's the last time I listen to him."

"Blaise told you to put flowers on the table?"

"It was one of the things he told me was romantic," Draco said dryly. "I personally can't see it. I mean, what's the purpose? 'I love you, so here are some pretty weeds that will die in about a week and leave dried-up petals everywhere.'"

She giggled at that. "I get the feeling you didn't do very well in Herbology," she said, raising her fork to her mouth.

He didn't answer until she had chewed her food and swallowed. "I passed with satisfactory marks, if that's what you want to know," he said, his voice deeper and throatier than it had been before. "But Potions was my forte."

"So I've heard." She took a delicate sip from her wineglass, her eyes never leaving his. "What did you smell when Slughorn made Amortentia in your sixth year?"

"I don't remember."

"Want to know what I smelled?" She didn't wait for him to answer. "I remember there being something sweet in it, like candy -- that was the predominant scent." Ginny chuckled. "That's probably why I didn't realize it was a Love Potion at first. Then there was broom polish."

His eyebrows rose. "Broom polish?"

"It's got a very distinct smell, and I could tell what it was right away." She pushed some food around on her plate, before taking up another forkful and eating it. This time, she exaggerated her movements, allowing her tongue to dart out and lick her top lip.

Draco swallowed visibly. "So. Candy and broom polish. You smelled Potter." He took a long drink of his wine.

"Well, that's what I thought at first," she admitted. "Granted, I fancied myself madly in love with Harry when I was sixteen, so I suppose I stretched anything I could into a sign that he liked me back. But the third scent wasn't him at all." She frowned. "Not in the slightest. The third one was something... I don't know, cool and wet."

He snorted. "I don't think 'wet' is a smell, Weasley."

"Haven't you ever been inside a greenhouse?" Ginny said, remembering the time Neville had given her a tour of his, a modest annex at the back of the apothecary's shop he ran in Hogsmeade. "Right after they've watered the plants?"

"Yes."

"That's the smell. It's not dirt or green things or anything, it's just...wet. Dampness. It has a smell."

He shrugged and returned to his meal. "I'll take your word for it, I suppose," he said, and it was silent a moment while they both ate. Then, just as Ginny was about to change the subject, he said flatly, "Cinnamon. Pomegranates. Burnt toast."

She waited.

"That's what I smelled. In the Amortentia."

"Oh." She stared at him a moment, while he dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. "You know, I've always wondered about the things people smell in the Love Potion. They just seem so random. I mean, did you smell burnt toast because the woman of your dreams is a terrible cook?"

He smirked at her. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Gin."

Ginny blushed and lowered her face, more moved than she would ever let on. How could he claim to be utterly without romance when he said things like that? "You -- you..." She couldn't think up anything to respond to that.

"There's this novel idea that's been adopted recently, Weasley. It's called forming sentences --"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Do shut up, will you?" He winked at her and it was all she could do to keep from jumping across the table and ravishing him.

Some time later, supper finished and her stomach full, Ginny sank back in her seat, warm and content. "Let me guess what's for dessert," she said, a small smile on her lips.

He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back too, giving her a challenging look. "I'll give you three tries."

"Chocolate biscotti," she said, remembering what he had ordered at Tantalus.

"Two more tries."

"Rice pudding?"

"One more try."

She eyed him carefully, taking in his amused grin and easy stance. "What happens if I can't guess it?"

He shrugged. "You started this game, not me."

"Then why on earth am I even bothering?"

"Let's pretend you guessed it -- there is no dessert," he said, standing. He hesitated, ran a hand through his hair, bit his bottom lip. With a start, Ginny realized his hands were shaking.

"Draco?"

"Could -- could you stand up, please?" His eyes darted towards hers then away again.

Heart pounding, Ginny pushed back her chair and stood. What was going on? Why did he look so nervous? "Is this something Blaise suggested?" she whispered, not quite able to speak.

Draco shook his head, head down. "He told me most men do it on one knee, but I told him that's rather too dramatic. Besides, these trousers were very expensive, and I'm not about to wrinkle them."

She thought her heart might have stopped at that.

"Ginny," he breathed, and he met her eyes. She was overcome by the depth of emotion in the silver depths of his gaze, overwhelmed by his ever-apparent love for her. There was nothing more beautiful in those moments than the way he looked at her, as though he would never see her again, and Ginny felt tears come to her eyes. What had she done to deserve a man like him? What had she done to make him love her so much that he was willing to defy the world to be with her?

She reached up and touched his cheek, much the same as she had done at the masquerade, unable to keep from touching him. His eyes closed, and he covered her hand with his. "Gin," he sighed, kissing her palm, the inside of her wrist; her breath escaped her in a shaky rush at the sensation. His hands rose and he cradled her face, delicately, cautiously, as though she would break. Then, with aching care, he brushed his lips against her forehead, each of her eyes, the tip of her nose, the corner of her mouth. Ginny was trembling all over by the time he had finished his ministrations, bracing herself on his chest to remain standing.

"Are you trying to kill me?" she moaned, looking up at him.

He shook his head again. "Marry me, Ginny."

She gasped, eyes wide. Dear Merlin. Anxiously she sought for some clue in his eyes, something to let her know he was _just joking, you should have seen your reaction, shall I ask the elves to bring out our dessert now?_ but there was nothing. Nothing but trepidation, and she could feel how nervous he was by the fluttering of his heart under her hand. Suddenly everything was in sharp focus, too sharp, too near: this was not just some bloke she was seeing on the side while she continued to date someone else. This was more real than the parody she played out with Harry for their friends and family.

This was the man she loved more than she thought it possible.

He shifted, and she watched as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. Ginny's thoughts followed a recursive pattern of _oh my God, oh my God_, and she could only gape as he opened the box to reveal the most perfect ring she had ever seen. The stone was an emerald, of course, but not showy or overlarge, set in an elegant platinum setting that made her breath catch.

"Yes," she whispered, still in a state of shock.

He ducked his head to see her face. "Sorry?"

"Yes." She touched the ring lightly, to make sure that it was real, that this was all really happening. "Yes, I'll marry you."

"You will?" There was a smile in his voice, and when she looked up it was there, just barely, turning up the corners of his sensuous mouth.

"Yes, God yes," she said, and she couldn't say it enough. She laughed out loud at the wonder of it all, while he took the ring out of its box and slid it onto her left hand. "Yes, yes, yes," she said, again, before he tossed the unneeded box onto the floor and swept her into his arms for a bruising kiss. Their bodies were pressed together and touching at every point; his hands were wrapped around her waist, hers were tangled in his hair. And when she could scarcely breathe anymore, and felt dizzy from him and his proposal and his kiss, they simply held one another, and found comfort in the beat of the other's heart.

"Tonight," he murmured in her ear. "Let's do it tonight."

Ginny pulled slightly away. "What?"

"I want to marry you tonight," he said. He looked, even now, perfectly serious.

She was about to protest -- knew that she _should_, because it seemed like everything was moving too fast -- but she realized she didn't have a good reason to. Why shouldn't they be married as soon as possible? What was holding them back?

"All right," she said, a slow grin forming on her face. She stifled a giggle. "Tonight."

"What time is it?" Draco looked down at his watch and answered his own question. "Quarter-till. They'll be expecting us."

"Who?" Ginny asked, as he pulled her from the room. They were headed towards his private Apparition Point. "Expecting us for what?"

"Blaise and Luna," he said in explanation. "Our witnesses."

"You mean --" Her jaw dropped as she remembered Luna's coy hints earlier that afternoon. "You went ahead and planned...? Merlin, but what if I'd said no?"

He turned back to her with one eyebrow raised. "I can't imagine why you would've done a silly thing like that."

"You are extremely self-confidant and arrogant."

He chuckled. "Oh, you love it."

They reached the Point, situated in its own closet-sized alcove in the hallway, and stood upon it. Draco wrapped his arms around her. "Hang on tight," he said, and then they had Apparated away.

The air smelled of smoke and petrol, Ginny noticed, as soon as she had recovered enough to take note of their destination. It was dark outside, and bitterly cold, and they stood surrounded by leaning old buildings that had seen far better days. Draco cast a Warming Charm over her when she shivered in her thin, strappy dress, and started leading her down the street.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Manchester," he said, looking carefully up at the council houses on either side of the street. He turned a corner and she saw a battered, smoke-stained street sign that read SPINNER'S END.

"Who lives in Manchester?"

"Severus Snape," he said. "My godfather. He's going to marry us."

Ginny pulled back on his hand, and Draco turned and looked at her irritably. "He's not a Death Eater," he said firmly. "I know the stories that circulated round the Order, but Dumbledore had already asked Severus to kill him should the need arise, long before that night on the Astronomy Tower. Severus was a double agent."

She looked down at the pavement. All she could think of were the horrible things Harry and Ron still said about Snape, how he deserved to be rotting away in Azkaban like the rest, and Harry's tale of Dumbledore's death had been passed around for years. This man, this former Death Eater who was directly responsible for the deaths of James and Lily Potter and Dumbledore -- he was the one who was about to perform her wedding ceremony.

But hadn't people been saying nasty things about Draco as well? She had lost count of the number of stories she had heard, about how Draco had spent the war as a silent financier for Voldemort, or was in Romania training with warlocks, or things too ridiculous to recount. "All right," she said at last, meeting his eyes. "Let's go."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and led her past just a few more row houses, before they reached the one on the very end of the street. The curtains were closed in the windows, but the faintest edge of lamplight shone through. Draco knocked twice on the front door, and moments later it opened to reveal Luna's familiar face.

"Oh good, you're here," Luna said brightly, her appearance in stark contrast to their dismal surroundings. She ushered them into a room completely lined with leather-bound books. Ginny's eyes were immediately drawn to the two men standing on the other side of the room -- Snape, dressed all in black from head to toe, and Blaise Zabini, whom she hadn't seen since her Hogwarts days. Blaise caught her eye and inclined his head politely. She gave him a weak smile back.

"You'll perform the ceremony for us, Severus?" Draco said. He still held Ginny's hand, and she could feel how clammy his was.

"Against my better judgment, yes," Snape said. On closer inspection, he looked as though he had recently woken up. "Are you ready?"

"Of course not," Luna said, pulling on Ginny's other hand. "Ginny's got to get properly dressed." She turned to Draco and said, "I hope you like it, it was the best Madam Malkin could do on short notice."

"I'm sure it's fine," he said. He squeezed Ginny's hand before letting go.

"We'll be right down in a few minutes," Luna said to them, and Ginny watched as she opened up a bookshelf and revealed a staircase that spiraled upwards. She managed to catch Draco's eye one last time before the shelf closed again and they were headed upstairs.

She pretended that the stomachache that immediately hit her afterwards wasn't that bad.

Ginny tried hard to not think about the fact that she was in Professor Snape's house -- as he would always be a professor to her, just like Lupin -- and instead focused on following Luna up and into the tiny bedroom at the front of the house. It did not look like it was used on a regular basis, so she assumed it must be a guest room, though if Snape ever had guests she wasn't sure. A gorgeous white gown was laid out across the bed.

"Oh my God," she breathed. "Is this --?"

"Your wedding gown," Luna said, smiling. "Draco told me to get one for you. I think you'll look beautiful in it, Gin."

"This is really happening, isn't it?" Ginny said. She clasped Luna's hands. "I'm not dreaming?"

Luna shook her head. "No, you're not. I looked through the house for Spattergroits and Gippyslinks, and this is all very much real."

With Luna's help, Ginny slipped out of her dinner dress and into the wedding gown, which fit perfectly. It was a basic, strapless gown, with full skirts that ended in a short train. A tulle petticoat peeked out under the hem, with her matching white high-heeled shoes. Waving her wand with ease, Luna swept Ginny's hair up into a pile atop her head, allowing a few curls to escape and brush the sides of her face.

"And flowers, there must be flowers," Luna said. She took the recently discarded green dress and Transfigured it into a modest bouquet of white and pink roses.

Ginny stared down into the flowers after Luna handed them to her, until her vision blurred. She didn't realize she was crying until she felt Luna's arms around her. "I want my mum and dad to be here," she whispered, choking on a sob. "And my brothers. I wish we didn't have to do this in secret."

"I know, Ginny," Luna said. "I know. But you do realize that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would never let you marry Draco." Ginny sobbed again, even harder. "It's better this way. The blood feud will be resolved with your marriage vows, and then you can go right up to your parents and tell them everything. It will be all right."

Ginny laughed through her tears, wiping at them distractedly. "It will, won't it?" she said. "I love Draco so much, Luna. You don't even know, I --" She laughed again.

"Then what are we still doing up here?" Luna said, smiling.

She showed her where she had put Ginny's wand -- in the narrow pocket on the right side of the gown -- and Ginny cleared her face of any signs of her tears. Once she was ready, heart pounding in anticipation and stomach writhing in pain, Luna led the way down the stairs.

* * *

Blaise was curious more than anything about the ceremony he was about to witness. Of course he was happy for Draco, for there had been a long time when he was certain his friend would never find a worthy woman to love, but curiosity prevailed. Blaise had known Daphne for several years, and had been her bedfellow for most of that time, before he had proposed marriage. And here was Draco, rushing into a secret midnight wedding ceremony with someone he had been with for two months. Two months! The Draco Malfoy he knew would never have acted so impetuously.

But Blaise studied him a little closer. Truth be told, he liked this Draco much better than the old one. Though he had never seen him and the youngest Weasley together before tonight, he could see that she had had a dramatic impact on him. He didn't hold himself as stiffly anymore, he was more willing to smile -- even if his smiles were still a bit emaciated -- he seemed more comfortable in his own skin. For that, Blaise conceded, he was grateful for Ginny Weasley's impact.

"You are aware of all the possible results of this union?" Snape was saying to Draco, whose eyes had not left the bookshelf-door once.

"Yes, yes," Draco said, waving his hand impatiently. "I haven't forgotten."

"Do you have rings?"

That made him pull his gaze away from the shelves, eyes wide and startled. Blaise enjoyed the view for a moment, before reaching into his pocket and bringing out two plain silver bands.

"What kind of best man would I be if I didn't have the rings?" he said, grinning. He nodded at Draco, who gave him a tight, relieved smile and a nod in return.

Footsteps sounded behind the door, and the three men turned as the bookshelf swung outward. Luna appeared first, her blonde hair golden in the lamplight. "If you're ready...?" she said, in her breathy voice.

"We are, Miss Lovegood," Snape said.

Luna pushed the door open wider and held it open as Ginny descended the rest of the stairs, a vision in white. She looked radiant, vibrant, but it was more something inside her than her pretty trappings that made her appear so, he knew. Blaise was close enough to hear Draco's intake of breath, and he hid his pleased smirk. _What fools we men become_ _when we are madly in love_, he thought. Ginny's eyes never left Draco's as she floated over to where they stood, Luna bringing up the rear and shutting the door behind them. Ginny handed off her small bouquet to Luna and reached for Draco, who took her small hands in his own larger ones.

"Who is here to witness the casting of this Marital Vow?" Snape said, his voice taking on an official tone.

"Luna Lovegood," Luna said.

"Blaise Zabini," said Blaise.

"And you are here of your own will, aware of what you are about to witness?"

Together, they recited, "We are here, sound in mind and body, of our own free will, to witness the marriage of these two people."

"And you, Draco and Ginny," he said. "No one has forced you to take these vows? You are here of your own volition?"

"We are," they said quietly in unison.

Snape nodded. "The rings, Blaise." He handed them to Snape, who gave the larger one to Ginny. "Put this ring on his third finger and repeat after me."

Ginny's hand shook as she did so, but her voice was steady as she said, "Accept this ring as a sign of my eternal love and devotion. May it bind us together beyond the strength of any other vow we may make in our lives." Snape next gave the smaller ring to Draco, who did the same for Ginny.

"Bring out your wands and cross them between you," Snape said, and Draco and Ginny did as he asked. "Repeat after me the words of the Marital Vow."

Again he started with Ginny, who said, in a strong, clear voice, "I, Ginevra Molly Weasley, do take you Draco to be my husband and partner in all things, and swear my life, fortune, and undying love to you. Come hard times, illness, or despair, I will be faithful to you and only you until the day that I die."

Their crossed wands throbbed with energy, lit with a strange blue light that sank into the very fibers of their wands. The air in the room hummed with power, and made the hairs on the back of Blaise's neck stand on end. The feeling only increased as Draco said his vow: "I, Julius Draconis Malfoy, do take you Ginny to be my wife and partner in all things, and swear my life, fortune, and undying love to you. Come hard times, illness, or despair, I will be faithful to you and only you until the day that I die."

The blue light intensified, nearly to the point where Blaise had to look away, and spread out over Draco and Ginny in a transparent dome. Then it shrank, settling in their skin and wands, deeper than any other vow known to wizardkind; it would never be broken. The wizards of old had known what they were doing when they had devised the Marital Vow, for there was nothing that would break it besides death.

"And it is done," Snape said quietly. "From this moment onward, in the eyes of the world, you are one."

Tears streamed down Luna's cheeks, Blaise noted, once the blue light of the vow had faded, and a wide smile was on her face as she watched the newlywed couple. Perhaps remembering that there were other people in the room, the kiss Draco gave Ginny was surprisingly chaste, before he pulled her tightly into his arms. He must have murmured something to her, for Blaise saw Ginny smile brilliantly and whisper in his ear, _I love you too, _before letting go and gazing up adoringly into his eyes.

"Thank you, Severus," Draco said solemnly, shaking the older man's hand.

"You will notify me at once if anything happens," Snape said.

"Yes, of course." Ginny timidly stepped forward and shook Snape's hand as well, with her own soft thanks.

"You cannot be with Potter anymore, Miss Weasley," he said sternly, frowning down at her. "With the Marital Vow you have just made, if he so much as touches you intimately, you will experience violent pains."

"Lighten up, Sev," Blaise drawled, anxious to lift the suddenly somber mood. "They just got married. Let them enjoy it for a bit before you go all doom and gloom on them."

Ginny chuckled at that, though she still looked a bit pale from Snape's warning. "Thank you, Blaise," she said, and she hugged him awkwardly; over her head he could see Draco thanking Luna. Blaise bit back a snort. The last time he and Ginny had spoken, she had turned her nose up at him and called him a poser. Now here he was, a witness at her wedding.

"Be good to him," he said in her ear, low enough for only her to hear, before she pulled away. "He loves you more than I thought him capable."

Ginny grinned up at him. "I know," she said.

"If you will excuse us," Draco said, slipping an arm around Ginny's waist, "I don't think the vow counts until it's consummated, so we'd better start working on that."

"Draco!" Ginny cried, giggling happily.

"He's right," Luna said vacantly. "That's how most old magic works."

"Thank you, Luna," Draco said, smirking. "See, Gin? Hope you didn't have anywhere to go tomorrow morning."

"Not anymore," she said, tugging on the front of his formal robes. With parting words for all of them, Draco pulled Ginny into his arms and they Apparated away with a sharp _crack._

"How beautiful," Luna said, wiping at her tears. Blaise offered her his handkerchief and she accepted it gratefully. "They're going to be so happy."

"If that is what the Malfoy-Weasley feud requires," Snape said thoughtfully, "then yes, I suppose they will be. But if not --" His jaw set forebodingly. "Then may Merlin have mercy on their souls."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to invite you to my wedding if you're going to be such a killjoy, Sev," he said, though inwardly he was just as worried. He was extremely worried.

* * *

"Stop hogging the covers, Julius."

Draco rolled his eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh. "I should never have let Severus use my full name," he said dramatically.

Ginny laughed and tugged on the bedsheets. "I would have found it out anyway, Julius. I never knew Draco was a nickname, let alone your middle name."

"The Malfoys fancy themselves descended from the Roman caesars," he said in explanation. He shifted himself onto his elbows and tucked her more comfortably into the covers. "My father's name was Julius Lucius, my grandfather's, Julius Abraxas, _ad infinitum_."

"So our firstborn son would have to be named Julius too," she mused.

He looked up at her again, an odd look on his face. Ginny flushed as she realized what she had just said. Children. _Their _children. Dear Merlin, they were married now. A slow smile stretched across his lips after several moments. "I really don't care one way or another," he said lightly, cupping her face with one hand. "Just as long as he's not saddled with a middle name like Draconis."

"They sound like specimens, you know. Julius Draconis. How very scientific of your mum and dad."

"Well thanks, _Ginevra_," he said, kissing her lips and settling his head back on her shoulder. "How do your parents give their sons nice normal names like Bill and Fred, and then name their daughter Ginevra?"

She ran her hands through his hair as she formulated a response. "There hasn't been a girl born to the Weasleys in several hundred years," she said. "So when Mum was going to have me, they thought I was going to be a boy. They would've actually named me Gideon Fabian, after Mum's brothers who died in the first war. Then, when I was born a girl, they decided to name me after the last female Weasley -- Ginevra."

"It's the Italian name for the Swiss city of Geneva, did you know that?" he said.

"No."

"It's a beautiful place," he went on. His hand slid from her face to her flat stomach. She trembled as he moved it slowly, up and down, in a circling motion. "The lake is clear as a mirror, and the mountains stretch away to the north and east." He paused. "We'll go there someday."

"Is that a promise, Mr. Malfoy?" she said sleepily.

She felt him grin into the crook of her throat. "That's a promise, Mrs. Malfoy."

Ginny fell asleep in his arms, the happiest she had been in a long time. _It doesn't get better than this_, she thought, as sleep closed in on her. _It can't. The only place to go from here is down._


	11. Vile Plague

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Ten - Vile Plague**

"_...ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man."_

"Stay."

Ginny closed her eyes against the rush of emotion that flooded her. "You know I can't," she whispered. She continued trying to work out how to Transfigure her bouquet back into her green party dress, sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but her panties and bra.

His response was, oddly, an amused chuckle. "Come on, love," he said, his voice still heavy with sleep, "if Blaise could hear how I'm prostrating myself like this, he'd say there's no way you could say no."

She turned despite herself to see Draco stretched out in bed, on his back for once, his hair sticking every which way. The bedsheet barely protected his modesty, and with her eyes she could trace all the supple lines of his snow-pale torso, his wiry arms. A soft, tired smile adorned his lips, one he never would have used in public, and she was overwhelmed by the urge to kiss him. Merlin, how was it possible to love someone this much?

"So I should say yes just because I don't know when you'll be like this again?" she joked.

"I'm vulnerable right now," he said, his eyelids at half-mast. "This fucking beautiful witch took advantage of me last night --"

"Took advantage of you?" Ginny rolled her eyes, though she was grinning. "And I'm sure you hated every minute of it, you poor thing. A kiss for your trouble, then." She leaned over the bed and made as if to kiss him, but held back, teasing. Draco's chin lifted, but she moved away again. "Oops, I've just remembered a pressing appointment," she said. "I'd better go."

"Witch," he muttered, before yanking her on top of him. Ginny laughed and shifted her legs so she was straddling him. "I don't know where you think you're going. It's not even dawn yet."

"It's winter, the sun rises later." On a whim, she let her hair hang down her shoulders, just barely brushing against his skin, and rocked slightly back and forth. He shivered under her almost immediately. "Cold, Draco?" she asked innocently.

"I know just what would warm me," he said, in that low, scratchy voice of his that drove her over the edge. Putting a hand at the base of her neck, he brought her lips to his in a gentle kiss. Ginny placed her hands on either side of his head and sank into him, her lace-covered breasts pressed against his chest. The light pressure of his tongue parted her lips, deepening the kiss, and a little groan came from the back of her throat.

"Aren't you glad you stayed now?" he said some minutes later, their foreheads touching. Ginny couldn't tear her eyes away from him. "You could have missed out on that fantastic snog."

"Merlin, I've married a raging egomaniac," Ginny said dryly. It hit her again, as it had been periodically since last night: they were married now. They were really, truly _married._ He must have had a similar thought, for she felt his right hand seek out her left, as though to affirm the presence of the two silver rings on her third finger. She reached for his hand too, and between her thumb and forefinger she turned his plain wedding band.

"If he touches you I'll know," he said, with an edge to his voice. There was no question who the 'he' was. "There's a Fidelity Charm included in the Marital Vow."

"I can't help that," she said, sighing. "I mean, I'll do my best to --"

"Damn right you will." He squeezed her hand, and with the other pushed back her long hair. "You're my wife now, Gin. It's not a game of musical beds."

"I certainly won't be seeking him out," she shot back. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. "God, I really don't want to fight with you. Not now. Please."

"Just tell me one thing: have you slept with him recently?"

His voice was more even now, but the tone was deceiving. She could tell with just one look in his eyes that what she was about to say would either break him or make him completely hers. How strange that she had once thought him so cold and aloof, when everything he felt was all in his eyes.

Knowing he was an adroit Legilimens, she went for the truth. "Not in awhile."

He relaxed, but barely. "How long is awhile?"

She buried her face in his neck, and inhaled the scent that was all him, only him. "A few weeks. But I don't think I could even do it anymore. Fake it, that is, with him. I can't --" She shuddered at the mere thought of being with Harry again.

Draco slid his arms around her and held her. "I trust you, for some idiotic reason," he murmured.

"When can I see you again?" she murmured.

"I'll send Luna some flowers," he said, his fingers moving up and down her back in a hypnotizing pattern. "The card will have the details. And I want you to actually get them this time, not her."

Ginny chuckled. "She thought they might be infested with winklebugs. It was for my own protection." His chest rumbled low in her ear when he laughed.

They lay quietly, relishing the last few minutes they had together. When sunlight started peeking through his bedroom curtains, and the sounds of Muggle London started getting louder as the day began, he nudged her. "You should go, Gin."

"Yeah," Ginny said, wanting nothing more than to stay in his arms forever.

"And when I say that, I mean now."

"Mmhm." She started kissing his neck and collarbone, feather-light touches of her lips.

"Now, or else you aren't leaving for another hour." He pushed her up by her shoulders, extricating her from him.

"I know, I know." She placed one last, lingering kiss on his lips and gave him a sultry look. "To remember me by...Julius."

She jumped out of bed laughing when he lunged after her.

* * *

When she arrived at her flat Luna was already there, fretting.

"Hermione ran out on me when we went to the movies," she said, the moment Ginny walked through the door. "Something occurred to her, and she said she had to go look something up, but I don't know if it had to do with you and Draco."

Ginny shrugged. "Knowing Hermione, it could've been anything." She pulled the shrunken wedding gown out of her pocket. "Can I keep this at your flat? I really don't think it's all that safe here."

"Sure," Luna said. She took the tiny dress and dropped it into a random pocket in her robes, as though it were a few Knuts and not a possibly incriminating wedding gown. "Last night was beautiful, you know."

Ginny blushed as she walked towards her bedroom to change. "It was, wasn't it? And you, telling me yesterday that maybe I should dress up for dinner. You knew he was going to propose!"

Luna shrugged, an odd little smile on her face as she followed her. "It might have come into our conversation," she said. "But really, it was the most beautiful wedding I've been to. The only weddings I've been to were your brothers', but even so, I'm sure few could top it."

"It's still sinking in for me, I think." Ginny went to her chest of drawers and started pulling out clothes to wear. "I mean, I never thought I'd be married at midnight in Professor Snape's house, for one thing."

Luna giggled. "I thought that was where every girl's dream wedding took place."

Ginny laughed with her as she tossed her bath towel onto the bed too. "Merlin," she said, sighing, staring down at her bed. "I don't think I even want to shower today. I won't be able to smell him on me anymore." She brought her wrist to her nose thoughtfully.

"I know, I just love the way George smells --"

"Right, that's enough information," Ginny said, giving an exaggerated shudder; Luna grinned apologetically. "Maybe I'll just use some Freshening Charms and leave it at that."

"But you have to shower, Gin," Luna said. "Today's an important day."

Ginny frowned, confused. "What? Have I missed something?"

"A lot of things, it seems." She sat down at the edge of Ginny's bed, idly smoothing the comforter. "Remember your dad's bid to run for Minister of Magic?"

"Yes, of course," Ginny lied. How had she forgotten something as important as all that? _Well_, she thought, _it doesn't exactly come up in my conversations with Draco._ "What's that got to do with anything?"

"There's an event this afternoon that we're all going to," Luna said. "It's at the Ministry ballroom, some kind of debate between Mr. Weasley and Sturgis Podmore."

"Oh. That stern-looking fellow who was in the Order, you mean?"

"Yes. He's running for minister too. Mr. Weasley said he saw Muggles having a debate on TV, when they elected their Prime Minister in the fall, and he thought it would be fun to have one."

Ginny chuckled at the thought of her dad and his Muggle obsession. "So he wants the family there for support?"

"Something like that. Dress nicely too, I think the _Daily Prophet_ will be there."

Mention of the wizarding newspaper instantly brought back the huge fight she had had with Draco over the picture of her kissing Harry. She groaned in annoyance. She really did not want to face the prospect of another such argument, especially now that he would probably know the instant Harry even touched her. _Snape mentioned physical pain_, she remembered, as she said goodbye to Luna and headed to the loo to shower. _Could it be any worse than what I'm already feeling?_ She winced as her head throbbed in response.

She was in her bedroom dressing -- she was going to wear traditional robes today, ones in a shade of cobalt blue that flattered her coloring -- when someone knocked at the door. Muttering to herself, Ginny went through her flat still barefoot and opened the door to find Harry standing there.

"Harry!" she said, forcing a smile on her face. "Why are you knocking? You know you can just walk in, right?"

"I tried to," he said, shrugging. He kissed her cheek lightly, and Ginny was relieved that there seemed to be no reaction from the Fidelity Charm. "Your wards wouldn't let me Apparate in, either."

"Oh, I wonder why," she said. She had reworked them a few weeks ago to exclude Harry, when Draco had decided he preferred meeting her in her own flat. "You know, I reset them because I was having trouble adjusting the Heating Charms. Must've messed something up."

"You should talk to Bill about that." Harry walked into her flat, shutting the door behind him, and she noticed he was dressed smartly in very expensive formal robes. "So are you ready yet?"

"Almost, just give me a few minutes." She smiled at him and headed back into her room; Harry made himself comfortable on her living room couch.

While she brushed her hair and cast some more Drying Charms on it, she called out to him, "Will this last very long, do you think?"

"I'm not sure," Harry called back. "Muggle debates can be fairly long sometimes. Hermione would know more than me, since she likes to watch them on the telly."

"I know I'm supposed to show support for my dad and everything," she went on. "It's just that I find politics so _boring_, you know?"

That was when the sparkle of her rings caught her eye.

Ginny nearly screamed when she saw it, and she covered her mouth with her other hand to stifle the sound that escaped. There were her rings, the emerald engagement ring and the silver wedding band, clear as day for just anyone to see. Thank Merlin the sleeves on her robes were slightly long, or Harry would surely have seen them.

Harry was laughing out in the living room. "Can't say I'm too fussed about politics either," he said, while she went rooting for her wand. "But yeah, it is your dad."

Having found the wand, lying in the puddle of her green dress on the floor, Ginny quickly cast Disillusionment Charms on the rings, double-checking to see that they were completely invisible. She tucked the wand, once satisfied, into her pocket in her robes. Then, when her makeup and hair were done and she looked worthy of being a ministry candidate's daughter, she left her room and went back out to Harry.

He stood as soon as he saw her. "Merlin, you look wonderful," he said, taking in her appearance.

Ginny smiled, warily. "Will I make Dad proud, do you think?"

"You make me proud," he said, stepping closer and putting his arms around her waist. "I'll be the envy of every man there." He bent his head and kissed her mouth.

Nothing could have prepared her for the sheer, unadulterated anguish that shot through her body with his kiss. She felt as though her lips were being sawn off with a blunt knife, like pieces of glass were flowing through her veins. A small, pained whimper left the back of her throat as she gently pushed him away, trying desperately not to sob. "Save some for later, will you, Harry?" she said, winking at him. Remarkably, her voice remained steady.

Harry sighed. "Fine. I'll take a rain check." Then, grinning lopsidedly, he stuck out his elbow. "Shall we, my lady?"

Ginny chuckled, ducking her head so he couldn't see how shiny with unshed tears her eyes were. Together, arm in arm, they left her flat and Apparated to the Ministry ballroom.

* * *

He hadn't known what to expect, but there was no denying it when it happened.

Draco was in the bathroom shaving, his strokes slow and precise over the curve of his cheek, when an agonizing pain, like being shot through with needles, hit him in the chest. So startled was Draco, his razor slipped and a fine line of red appeared on his pale skin.

"Damnit," he hissed, closing his eyes and bracing himself against the sink. He had touched her. Fucking Harry fucking Potter had touched _his_ wife. What had it been? A tender caress? A kiss? Were they shagging in her flat? He clenched his teeth until his jaw hurt, trying to keep himself from breaking the bathroom mirror. Perversely, he hoped she had felt something too. He hoped she ached the way he did when he knew she was with Scarhead.

It happened again, sharper, harder, and he staggered against the bathroom counter, sweat standing out on his brow. He gasped for breath, groaning at the combination of the pain from the Fidelity Charm and the stomachache he had had since Ginny had left that morning. It became too much, too quickly. He felt like he was dying, being ripped open from the inside out. Reeling, he barely made it to the toilet before vomiting up everything he had eaten the night before.

Still breathless, still in pain, still unable to bring himself back to his feet, Draco leaned against the counter, eyes closed. Images flashed on the darkness of his eyelids. Ginny with Potter, touching him, kissing him, laughing with him. The jealousy that burned through him was intense, consuming, and he dove for the toilet a second time, retching over and over again even when there was nothing left in his stomach. He lay on the floor afterwards, his cut cheek pressed against the cool tile.

For how long exactly did she think they could carry out this charade? How long could they realistically go without telling anyone that they were in love, that they had married under everyone's noses, that they didn't care about some meaningless old blood feud that should have ended ages ago? Narcissa would continue pressuring him about asking Pansy to marry him. The agreement with the Parkinsons was dissolved now, with his marriage to Ginny, but none of them would know that. And bloody Potter, who was carrying a ring around in his pocket: when would he ask Ginny to marry him? Today? Next week? What could she say to him when he did?

Draco had planned on waiting a few days to see her again -- not out of choice, but because there were appearances to keep up, business associates to speak with. Now he found the idea abhorrent, especially since he was fed up with being sick when she wasn't around. Nothing worked to relieve him either, not headache potions, not triple-strength stomach flu potions, the kind that were unsafe for small children, chased by shots of numbing Firewhisky. Only being with her made everything all right.

Very well, then. If he had to strap her to his back until Snape figured out how to end the blood feud, so be it. He would do it.

Eventually, though much too slowly for his liking, the pain in his stomach eased, and Draco pushed himself into a sitting position. He looked down and saw a thin red streak on the floor, where his cheek had been, and bent to rub it out with his thumb. It was too late: the blood had already soaked into the porous tile.

Much later, when he could bear to stand, he carefully finished shaving and healed his cut with a basic medical charm, then dressed in black trousers with a pearl gray shirt. He asked one of the house elves to bring him the _Daily Prophet_ from the night before, to read while he ate breakfast. Draco still didn't feel well enough to eat as was normal, but he managed to choke down some toast and black coffee. The front page headline happened to be about Arthur Weasley, and his bid for Minister of Magic. Everyone was saying that the election was in the bag for him, that Podmore hadn't a chance at winning, all hail Arthur Weasley. There was a debate at the Ministry tomorrow afternoon, where Mr. Weasley would surely be supported by his family en masse, including his daughter's boyfriend, the great Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, remember him?

Draco scowled at the picture the _Prophet_ had printed with the article. It was of all the Weasleys, plus Potter and Luna, and it looked as though it had been taken at the nomination ball two months earlier. Potter's arm was thrown around Ginny, who looked stunning in her Grecian goddess costume. She kept trying to push him away to blow air kisses up at Draco, but Potter was both oblivious and persistent.

"Pinky," he said. The house elf appeared with a sharp _crack_ at the table, bowing low. "Send Mrs. Blackburn an owl and tell her I'm not coming into the office today."

"Yes, Master Draco, right away," the elf said eagerly, and she vanished once again.

_She's mine, Potter_, he thought determinedly, as he looked down at his old school rival's photograph face. _She's mine, and soon everyone will know it._

* * *

A rather large crowd of spectators had already gathered at the Ministry ballroom when they arrived, milling around and speaking to one another as they waited for the debate to begin. Several flashbulbs went off in their faces when she and Harry walked in, nearly blinding them. "Harry, what do you think about Arthur Weasley's stand on Muggle-wizard relations?" one reporter cried.

"Do you think he has a chance at winning the election?"

"Will he play favorites with his sons already in the Ministry?"

"Are there wedding bells in the future for you and Miss Weasley?"

Harry only laughed and pulled Ginny closer. "Can we do this at another time, gentlemen?" he said. "I'm just here to support my girlfriend's father, that's all. Let us enjoy the debate in peace." The reporters grudgingly backed away, even as the photographers continued to snap pictures, and Harry led Ginny through the crowds to the front of the room. A platform had been erected there, with two facing podiums for Arthur and Sturgis Podmore, and below it was a desk for Kingsley Shacklebolt, who would be posing questions. On-duty Aurors stood along both walls, looking severe in their Ministry robes, wands drawn.

The rest of the Weasleys were already there, save Ron and Hermione, seated in the first few rows of chairs lined up through the ballroom. "There you are Harry, Ginny," Molly said, kissing them both on the cheek. "Here, I've saved you seats," and she ushered them to two chairs in the front row, next to George and Luna. Arthur was already up on the platform, standing at his podium, and he smiled and waved at Ginny, who waved back.

"Attacked by the reporters, were you?" George said to Harry. "We all were, when we came in. Maybe if Dad gets elected, I should start wearing a Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes shirt everywhere."

"Like the joke shop needs any more publicity," Ginny said, laughing. "You've already bought out Zonko's and that company from France."

"No such thing as too much publicity," Fred said, grinning from George's other side, and then everyone was going quiet and taking their seats as Kingsley Shacklebolt strode towards his desk.

"Welcome, everyone, to our first election debate," Kingsley said, his voice booming out through the ballroom. "I must ask that everyone remain silent while the candidates speak, and that the photographers keep their picture-taking to a minimum. We will begin with questions that have been submitted by ministry officials, and each candidate will have five minutes to speak."

As Kingsley rattled through the list of debate rules, Ginny tried doing some simple breathing exercises to assuage the pain that still coursed through her from Harry's kiss. _In and out, in and out, even, steady, quiet breaths._ Her entire body throbbed in protest with every movement she made, but her breathing seemed to help -- a little. Kingsley sat down and Arthur and Sturgis Podmore took their places at the podiums; she clapped with everyone else.

"Mr. Podmore," Kingsley began, "even now, there are still a few renegade Death Eaters on the run. What would be your policy for their capture and punishment?" Ginny frowned when she heard the question. Of course they would talk about the Death Eaters. Her eyes closed as she rubbed at the bridge of her nose.

Harry gently touched her knee. Her skin was scorched at the contact. "Are you all right, Gin?" he murmured, as Podmore started his response. "You look rather pale."

"A bit of a headache, that's all," she said, forcing a smile. She took his hand off her knee and held it between both of hers instead. The pain faded away, barely. "I'll be all right."

He looked at her closely for a moment, then smiled and kissed her forehead. Lucky for her, Harry was more prone to brotherly acts, like putting an arm around her or holding her hand, and those kinds of gestures did not seem to be covered by the Fidelity Charm. In fact, now she thought about it, her pain was starting to decline drastically. She felt better, much better, with every passing moment.

Podmore finished his response, and with a nod, signaled Arthur that it was now his turn. His straw-colored hair glinted in the lights above them as he stood back from his podium, and --

_Draco._

Ginny couldn't have said what made him come to mind -- maybe it was knowing that Harry's fingers were a hairsbreadth away from her invisible wedding rings, maybe it was Podmore's blond hair -- but it was as though the puzzle pieces were finally fitting together. Now that a few minutes had gone by, she felt wonderful: her stomach was fine, her headache was gone, her ailments had disappeared.

She only felt that way when she was in the same room as Draco.

Her breath caught. She had read in books about people being able to feel another person's eyes on them, but she wasn't sure if the crawling feeling under her skin was the same thing. Ginny spun towards Luna, who had been subtly watching her throughout the debate, and gave her a significant look. Without a word spoken, Luna nodded and turned to George on her other side.

"I need to use the loo," Ginny heard her say softly.

George raised his eyebrows in interest. "Can I help?" he replied, just as quietly.

_Right, didn't need to hear that_, Ginny thought with an inward groan. Luna and George stood a moment later and made their way towards the back of the ballroom.

* * *

"This is all your fault, Ronald."

"What? How is _your_ inability to go five minutes without having to use the bathroom _my_ fault?"

"Oh, never mind," Hermione huffed, hand resting over her stomach. She wasn't showing very much yet, but her symptoms loved to rear their ugly heads whenever possible. "Look, the debate has already started. We'd better stay back here so we don't interrupt anything."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. He looked around them for an empty seat in the last few rows. While he was still searching, George and Luna strode past them, hand in hand.

"Loo," George said to Hermione's raised eyebrows, a mischievous look in his eyes.

"We'll be back in a bit," Luna said absently, her eyes darting towards someone in the crowds, then away. She let George lead her out of the ballroom.

Hermione bit her lip, thoughtful. Long ago she had realized that, despite her otherworldly affectations, Luna never did or said anything without purpose. Who had she looked at? Not the Weasleys, as they were on the opposite side of the room and at the front. Mr. Lovegood wasn't present, and as far as Hermione knew, Luna had no other family.

When she turned to see for herself, she got her answer in the form of a pale, ash-blond head of hair.

Draco Malfoy.

"There's two over there," Ron told her, pointing to seats along the far side of the ballroom; they happened to be just a few rows behind Malfoy. Hermione nodded, and they went and sat down to listen to the debate.

"Oh I think it's very important to have good relations with Muggles," Arthur was saying. "I know that there are those who would disagree, but isn't blood elitism what got us where we were six years ago?"

Malfoy was sitting perfect still, his back ramrod straight in his chair. Beside him was a tall, dark young man who looked familiar..._Blaise Zabini_, Hermione confidently recalled. As she watched, Zabini leaned in and muttered something incomprehensible to Draco, who glared at him and gave him a few terse words in response. Why were they at the debate? Zabini, she reasoned, had several good motives -- he was one of the Ministry's biggest financial sources, and was a well-known lobbyist for one cause or another -- but Malfoy? Malfoy was pitted in an ancient blood feud against one of the candidates. If Hermione's research was anything to go by, why would he be here if merely being in the same room as a Weasley would give him migraines?

Malfoy said something else to Zabini, who then gestured towards the front of the room. Not the platform, Hermione realized -- just to the left of it. Where the Weasleys were sitting.

_Dear Merlin_, Hermione thought, _is it possible I'm right?_

* * *

"You had to have known this would happen," Blaise muttered. "For Merlin's sake, you put a Fidelity Charm on a woman who was involved with someone else from the beginning. And it's your own damn fault you have a weak constitution."

"I'd like to see how uppity you'd be if you'd spent the morning with your head in a toilet," Draco shot back. "Just watch my back and make sure no unnecessary body parts are hexed off, will you?"

Blaise shook his head and folded his arms in front of his chest. "The things I do for you, Malfoy," he said under his breath.

Draco wanted to scream at the sight of Ginny sitting next to Potter, all cuddly and cozy. His fists clenched and unclenched in his lap. And deep down, somewhere secret that not even Ginny had seen, he feared it was all a ruse on her part. She didn't really love him the way she claimed to. He had given her his heart, completely and utterly, and she could flatten him with just a word if she chose to.

The debate dragged on for another two hours before coming to a clumsy end. Everyone applauded the candidates politely, not entirely sure if it was the right response, and stood to either leave or try to speak with Weasley and Podmore. Draco stood and stretched his stiff limbs, thankful that they hardly hurt at all, what with nine Weasleys in the room. Now he would set things in motion. He would walk right up to Harry and announce everything, to everyone, consequences be damned. If he and Ginny could have even a short time together --

"Trouble," Blaise said abruptly, just moments before Hermione Weasley was standing next to them.

Draco automatically sneered at her (_my God_, he thought idly_, she's my sister-in-law now_), and gave her a cutting, head-to-toe look. "Can I help you, Granger?" he said.

"Yes, you can," she said, ignoring his tone. "I want to know why you're here."

He snorted. "I think I have more right to be here than you, mudblood."

The moment it came out of his mouth, he knew it had been the wrong thing to say. Out of nowhere, Weasley was at her side, red-faced with rage. "You take that back, Malfoy!" he said, gaining the attention of the people around them.

"What, are we in Hogwarts again?" Blaise cut in. He forced Draco out of their row and into the aisle. "I'd think you could come up with something better than that."

"I'm warning you, Zabini," Weasley said, drawing his wand; the crowd around them noticeably pulled back.

"I'm warning _you_, Weasel King," Blaise said, drawing his wand as well. "Tell your wife to keep her nose out of other people's business."

"Neither of you have the right to be here," Weasley said, a triumphant look on his face. "So I think I should be the one telling you two to clear out, you Death Eater scum."

Blaise's eyes flashed dangerously at that. He had never sided with Voldemort during the War, and he loathed any implication that he had. "You shouldn't start something unless you plan to finish it, Weasley," he hissed, raising his wand and pointing it at Weasley's chest.

Draco knew where this could end up, perhaps better than anyone present. "Blaise," he began firmly, putting a hand on his friend's arm.

"Fuck off, Draco," Blaise said, glaring at him. "You'll find, Weasley, that I do not take slander of my good name lightly."

Weasley yanked Hermione behind him and extended his own wand. "I'm a fully-trained Auror, Zabini," he said.

"Is that a threat or a joke?" Blaise said dryly.

Again, Draco tried to stop him from dueling Weasley. "You have no quarrel with him," he said, grabbing his arm a second time. "Put down your wand."

"I said, fuck off!"

"If he wants a piece of me, let him do it, Malfoy!" Weasley cried.

"_Blaise_ --"

"You're only getting in my way, Draco."

Several things happened then, nearly all at once. Blaise opened his mouth to hex Weasley, but Draco lunged for his wand arm, hoping to lower it from its target. With Blaise's attention diverted in trying to fight him off, neither of them saw or heard Weasley make a swishing motion with his wand. A jet of blue light shot from the tip, searing the air around it, and hit Blaise square in the chest.

Blaise's eyes went wide, and he staggered back, away from both of them. For a moment he wavered, as though undecided, on his feet, and Draco reached out with one hand. Then a fierce cough shook Blaise's whole body, and in horror Draco saw blood dribbling down his chin. His legs gave out at that moment, and Draco darted forward to catch him, helping him lay out on the floor. Blaise's knees came up to his chest as he coughed again, spattering blood on Draco's trousers. His body convulsed violently. His eyes rolled back in his head. Draco had never seen a curse do anything like that before, and it scared the shit out of him.

"Don't you dare," Blaise managed, looking up at him. "Don't you dare."

Something animal inside of him took over then, and later, when he was returned to his logic and reason, he couldn't explain what occurred at that moment. Blaise was dying. His best friend, the man who had stuck out his neck to save him, was brutally suffering from the result. He forgot that Weasley was his wife's brother, that he had been about to change everything by admitting his marriage to Ginny -- he forgot Ginny was even in the same room. There was nothing but Blaise, in desperate need of a Healer's attention, and the man who had made him that way: Ron Weasley.

Draco turned his wand on Weasley, towering in rage, and without even pausing, screamed the deadliest curse that came to mind: "_Sectumsempra!_"

Weasley jerked back and collapsed onto the floor, amidst shrieks and cries for help from the debate spectators. Hermione screamed piercingly, clutching at him. Weasley went rapidly pale. A jagged gash was cut right across his chest, with blood soaking through his clothes and outer robes, and pooling on the floor in a thick, dark mass. "Ron!" Hermione sobbed. "God, please, someone call for a Healer! Ron!_ Ron!_"

"Get Malfoy!" someone in the crowd cried. "He's the one that did it!"

He sprang into action. The Aurors along the closest wall had started coming towards them the moments the shouts broke out, and the crowds around him were dense and packed in. Summoning all his strength, Draco tapped into his Dark Magic and, with a wordless wave of his hand, forced the crowds apart and cleared a way to the door. He ran for it flat out, hexing an Auror who had managed to escape his spell.

"Malfoy did it!" the crowds cried. "He's getting away! He got the Weasley boy!"

There were anti-Apparition wards in all parts of the Ministry, but Draco found himself again accessing his vast knowledge of Dark Magic to get around that obstacle. How had his father and Aunt Bellatrix gotten into the Department of Mysteries at the end of his fifth year? There were four Aurors hot on his heels, shouting hexes and jinxes at him, but he avoided all of them.

"You're under arrest! Stop, in the name of the law!" one shouted.

Draco skidded to a halt, wand extended. Then, before they could grab him, he made a slashing motion with his wand, and he had vanished into nothing.

* * *

They heard rather than saw the commotion on the other side of the room. "What's going on?" George wondered, frowning; his frown deepened when they all heard Ron's voice amidst the argument. Someone screamed, and the crowd reacted dramatically. Ginny knew then that something serious was going on.

"Stay here," Harry told her, and he and the rest of the Weasley men dashed off towards the noise. Ginny disregarded him, pushing and shoving her way through behind them.

The next voice that shouted was Draco's, some curse she had never heard of before, and then Hermione was screaming, screaming, and all hell broke loose. People were shouting, reaching for their wands, trampling each other in an effort to stop whatever was going on. An invisible hand forced her to one side and Ginny nearly lost her balance. Straightening out quickly, she found Bill's tall form booking it through the crowds, and she followed after.

It was Blaise's still-convulsing body that she tripped over, when she reached the small clearing around the scene of the battle. There was blood on the floor around him, and his breath rattled in his throat and chest like a death knell. He was moving, at least, and breathing.

Ron was doing neither.

Her eyes filled with the sight of her brother, fading swiftly in Hermione's arms, it took two or three reiterations before she understood what the witnesses were shouting.

"Malfoy did it! Malfoy attacked the Weasley boy!"

"Malfoy!"

"_Malfoy_!"

Ginny knelt by Blaise, who had only last night been at her wedding, who had smiled at her so kindly, like she was a fellow Slytherin. His eyes fluttered open, and focused on her.

"I'm sorry, Ginny," he whispered, his lips red with his own blood. "I'm so sorry."

Ginny could only stare back at him. Her whole body was numb, unfeeling, save her heart, which had shattered into a thousand pieces.


	12. Afflicted Calamity

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Eleven - Afflicted Calamity**

"_O, I am fortune's fool!"_

Their vigil went on for what felt like days, years, and all of it the same: Molly wept quietly into a spotted handkerchief while Arthur rubbed her back, looking rather like he was in a deep state of shock. Bill, Charlie, and Percy tried playing Gobstones, then various word games, but had fallen silent hours ago. The twins were unnaturally still, unable to muster enough humor to lighten the situation. Ginny feared that nothing could lift their spirits again.

Hermione had been taken to the maternity ward, for she had been so beside herself by the time the Healers arrived that they were worried about her unborn child. Angelina and Hestia were with her, and Hestia reported later that mother and baby were doing fine. Fleur had fallen asleep on Bill's shoulder, hand resting over her large belly, and Penelope spoke softly with Luna.

Harry paced, restlessly, back and forth, back and forth, up and down the hallway in the Emergency Spell Damage Ward, as he had since they arrived. Any attempts to speak to him ended in failure, for he wouldn't look at any of them, wouldn't listen to any of them. He was convinced the attack on Ron had been his fault.

"Ron always gets in trouble on Auror duty for jumping ahead of himself," he had said at one point, when he was still willing to talk. "I ribbed him about it, but I should have helped him -- if I had only --"

"Stop it, Harry," Ginny said. Ron was just inside the door they had huddled around, possibly dying, possibly dead. Even now, hours removed from the Ministry debate, she didn't think it had sunk in. "It's not healthy to think that way."

His head lowered. "You're right, Gin," he murmured. He hadn't spoken since then.

Mercifully, someone at the debate had sent for a Healer as soon as the commotion started. Ginny had still been kneeling over Blaise, who had lost consciousness, wondering in a strange, disconnected way how Daphne would react. Daphne Greengrass was a beautiful, rich, pureblooded witch, with class and elegance that Ginny could only dream of having. How would she respond when she learned that her fiancé had been attacked?

The Healer had come straight to Ron first, of course -- the pool of blood on the floor around him was larger. And he had been about to leave without even seeing Blaise until Ginny stood.

"Wait," she had said. "This one too."

Daphne would be dignified, she decided. The Healers would tell her that Blaise had died and she would shed a single, stoic tear. "My love," she would sigh, and speak no more. Ginny told herself these things and envisioned them in a mobius strip of self-control, for she knew as soon as she stopped she would break. She would scream at the tops of her lungs, and wail and moan and sob her heart out. She would beg for a Time Turner so she could go back in time, back to those precious last seconds before her life had fallen apart and her brother had fallen before her husband's wand.

But, unbidden, she saw Draco in her mind's eye, from the night before, when they had been married and he had undressed her so reverently, kissing every inch of her skin as he exposed it. He was gentle, so gentle with her, making her feel things she had thought existed only in fairy tales. She had not existed in her entirety until he had touched her. As long as she lived, she would never cease to wonder at the note of worship in his voice when he said those magic words to her: _I love you_.

She then thought of him as he must have been at the debate, face twisted in rage as he tried to kill her brother. The enmity in his voice when he shouted that lethal curse. The Dark Magic he had used to escape afterwards, which had poisoned the air like a dense, foul smog. How was it possible that the same man could have two such opposing faces?

Blaise had also been taken to the Emergency Spell Damage Ward, but several hours passed before anyone who loved him came to keep a vigil for him. His room was several doors down from Ron's, and private. Ginny spent several minutes watching the beautiful Daphne, an engagement ring glittering on her finger, sob inelegantly as she implored the Healers to tell her how her beloved fared. Ginny couldn't watch her for more than a minute, or else down would come her carefully constructed walls. Blaise's mother, the recently widowed Mrs. Callow, sat in solemn silence on a nearby bench, seemingly oblivious to her future daughter-in-law's hysterics.

And they waited. And they waited. And they waited.

Sometime well past midnight, when even Charlie the night owl was having trouble staying awake, the Healer that had Levitated Ron and Blaise's damaged bodies away from the Ministry ballroom appeared in the doorway of his room. All activity amongst the Weasleys, what little there was, immediately ground to a halt.

Ginny again heard Draco's voice ringing out in her head, foreboding death and destruction.

"Had I been but thirty seconds later," the young man said, looking at them soberly, "he would have died."

Molly stood, with Arthur following suit. "You mean...?" she whispered, fresh tears springing to her eyes. "Ronnie is...?"

"He's suffered a great deal of internal bleeding," the Healer said, "and he'll probably always have a faint scar on his chest -- but he'll live."

All thirteen people present sagged in their seats in utter relief; Bill even looked a bit teary as he shook Fleur awake and told her the good news. Harry ran to Ginny and she flung her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder as she finally let herself cry. Charlie and Fred got up and announced they would go to the maternity ward to tell Hermione, Hestia, and Angelina.

"My baby," Molly sobbed. "My Ronnie's all right."

"How is he now?" Arthur asked, voice quaking.

"Still not very far removed from death," the Healer said. "He's unconscious, and we're giving him Blood-Replenishing and Organ-Mending Potions every thirty minutes. We'd like to keep him here to rest for at least a week. He can take visitors once he's conscious again, which we hope will be tomorrow afternoon, the morning after at the latest."

"But he's all right," Arthur pressed. "He's going to be fine."

"Yes, Mr. Weasley," the Healer said, smiling sadly. "He's going to be just fine." He turned to reenter Ron's room, then stopped. "Do you know what spell it was that did this to him?" he asked Arthur.

"Sectumsempra," Harry spoke up. Ginny started. How had he known what curse Draco had used? She had been positive it was Dark Magic.

"I suspected as much," the Healer said with a sigh. "A curse of that severity merits a jail term. I hope they caught the wizard that did it." He excused himself and went to attend Ron.

"Bloody Malfoy," George spat, face red in anger. "Why they didn't throw him into Azkaban after the War I'll never know."

"They've got plenty of reason to now," Percy said. "He had four Aurors going after him, so they likely have him in custody already."

"There's no redeeming types like him," Bill said reflectively, his arm around Fleur.

"I bet he planned it," Harry burst out, eyes flashing angrily. "He's always hated Ron and me, I bet he waited until just the right time so he could get back at us for winning the War."

Ginny's heart ached like nothing else when she heard their words, the hate dripping from them. If they only _knew_, she thought -- if they only knew what goodness lay secretly in his heart, what kind things he was capable of. If they only knew it was their own brother-in-law they were condemning to a fate worse than death.

Their own brother-in-law! Capable of such cruelty to another human being!

"Dad," Bill said, interrupting Ginny's thoughts. "I think Fleur and I are going to go home. She's exhausted, we both are."

"Yes, very good idea," Arthur said distractedly. "In fact, now that we know Ron's all right, we should all go home and get some rest. The next few days are going to be very long indeed."

"We should have shifts," Ginny said abruptly. "Take turns sitting with him until he wakes."

"We'll do the first one," Harry said, just as Ginny had known he would. "The rest of you can get some sleep, we'll stay."

"Oh, thank you Harry," Molly said, giving him a watery smile. "You're so thoughtful. Arthur and I will be back in the morning to take over, all right?"

The Weasleys exchanged hugs and goodbyes, voicing their relief at hearing Ron would live and promising to see one another after getting a good night's rest. In but a few moments, the corridor had emptied, leaving Ginny and Harry alone.

"I thought I was going to lose him, Gin," Harry said hoarsely, his eyes shining a bit too brightly in the overhead lights. "When I ran up and saw him lying in Hermione's arms..."

"You heard the Healer," Ginny said, stroking his arm; it was like dipping her hand in a basket of knives. "He's going to be fine. But oh God, Harry --" He pulled her into his arms again, and for a long time they simply held each other.

Once they had both sent up their own silent prayers, infinitely thankful for Ron's life, Harry stepped slowly out of her embrace. "I'm going to get something from the cafe, I think," he said, searching through the little moneybag in his pocket. "Care to join me?"

"No, thank you," Ginny said with a thin smile.

"Can I bring you something back?"

"I'm all right." Harry shrugged, kissed her on the cheek, and headed towards the nearest staircase.

The moment he had gone, Ginny flew down the corridor towards Blaise's room, since she had noticed an hour earlier that his Healer had allowed Daphne and Mrs. Callow into the room already. Biting her lip, she knocked three times.

Daphne answered, her eyes red and puffy from crying. "Er...yes?" she said politely.

"I'm a friend of Blaise's," Ginny said. She immediately realized what that implied when Daphne's gaze hardened. "No, I mean -- I'm a friend of Draco's. Is Blaise all right?"

"You're Ginny Weasley, aren't you?" the older girl said, and a shy smile ghosted across her face. "Blaise talks about you a lot, you and Draco. He just regained consciousness not that long ago." She opened the door and gestured for her to enter.

The room was smallish, though outfitted with everything a patient and his family would need: a fake window with a calming view of the Kensington Gardens at sunrise, a bed with fine linens, and numerous comfortable chairs. Mrs. Callow sat in the one beside the bed, and she raised an eyebrow at the intrusion.

"What is she doing in here?" she said archly.

"She's all right, Mum," Blaise rasped. What looked like ten or twenty pillows supported him, and his head lolled limply on his neck. "I want to talk to her. Alone."

"Blaise --"

"Please, Mum," he said, giving her a look. Mrs. Callow sighed and nodded, and wordlessly left the room, shutting the door behind her.

"Do you want me to leave too, Blaise?" Daphne asked.

"Stay, love." He reached out to her and she floated to his side, clasping his hand in both of hers. Her heart twisted when she saw the look they shared, how deep their love ran. Jealousy pricked her like a hot iron at the sight. Blaise turned to her, and already he looked slightly stronger. "Now, Ginny --"

"Draco cursed Ron, didn't he," Ginny said, her voice flat.

"In Draco's defense, your brother cursed me first."

"He almost died, Blaise," she said, and this time she couldn't hold back the tears.

"So did I."

Her vision became blurry and indistinct, and she bowed her head to wipe at her cheeks. "The Healer said -- another thirty seconds and --" She couldn't finish.

Blaise heaved an exhausted sigh. "The punishment did not fit the crime," he agreed quietly. "But then again, Draco has always had a nasty, nasty temper. I saw him run off, did the Aurors capture him?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

"If they didn't get him, you need to speak to him, Ginny," Blaise said, meeting her eyes. "He needs you now more than ever."

"What about me?" she cried. "It's _my _brother that almost died!"

"Just speak to him. Promise me, Ginny, it's important."

She looked down at the footboard and ran a finger along its carved edge. She was ambivalent about the prospect of seeing Draco again: would her first impulse be to kiss him, or to hex him within an inch of his life? Would he be penitent or arrogant? Would they make up or be at odds permanently?

Ginny's stubborn side kicked into gear on that note. Draco had known what he was doing when he had cursed Ron. If he expected forgiveness, or love, or _anything_ from her, he was simply delusional. "I promise I'll speak to him," she lied.

"And even if he didn't make it -- even if he's in custody -- go and see him."

"Why do you care so much?" Ginny said coldly. "Is he that great a friend? Well, I suppose you didn't have any brothers for him to kill off --"

"I care because you've made him a better man," Blaise said over her. "I see it, Severus sees it. You've made him happy. For the first time in his life, Draco is happyabout something, and I'll be damned if I sit back and let the two of you ruin everything."

Ginny turned away and Draco's beautiful smile flashed in her mind; his wondrous laugh echoed in her ears. "Harry will be back from the cafe by now," she murmured. "I should go." She moved towards the door.

"Please, Ginny. At least think about what I said."

She looked back to meet his eyes one more time. "Feel better, Blaise," she said, and she slipped into the corridor to go back to Ron's room.

* * *

Snape was sorting through correspondence at his desk when his front door banged open and slammed shut with equal force. Parchment scrolls scattered everywhere in the great wind that swept through the room. Annoyed, Snape flicked his wand and brought them all back to their places on the tabletop. He looked up and saw a disheveled Draco, panting from his exertion, leaning against the door.

"And who is after you this week?" Snape said dryly.

"I just killed Ron Weasley," Draco blurted out.

Snape froze, blinking slowly. "If that's your idea of humor --"

"I used Sectumsempra on him. I don't think the Healers would have come in time."

"Where?"

Draco was white, bloodless, his eyes wide and unseeing; he didn't answer. Snape rose from his chair and crossed the room, eyes narrowed. "The Ministry debate," he said slowly.

"He cursed Blaise," Draco said, his voice higher than normal. "I think Blaise is dead too. And --" Suddenly his entire body spasmed, his back arching far more than it should have, and he fell with an anguished groan to his hands and knees. "And Potter keeps touching Ginny," he bit off, through clenched teeth.

Snape pulled the pieces together in his mind as he knelt beside his godson. Weasley and Zabini, possibly dead. Draco left holding the wand. Dear Merlin. How could everything have gone so utterly wrong in so short a time? "You thought that if you came here I would fix everything for you?" he said, his voice dangerously soft.

Draco looked up at him through the curtain of his ash blond hair. "I thought --"

"This is all your doing, Draco. Your inability to control your temper, your impetuous decision to marry Miss Weasley --"

"I thought marrying Ginny would end the blood feud!" he cried, leaning forward. "Do you think I enjoy being sick all of the time? And Ginny -- Ginny looks like she's _dying_, Severus. She's too thin, too pale..." His head dropped and he stared at the floor.

Snape studied him for several moments, contemplative. At last he spoke, but it wasn't what Draco wanted to hear. "You must get out of the country."

Draco frowned, startled. "But I don't under--"

"Shacklebolt decreed that the next time there was a wizard duel in public, between the Slytherins and Gryffindors, the culprits would be sent to Azkaban," Snape said. He stood and helped Draco to his feet. "Azkaban is no place for a Malfoy, no matter what he's done. You need to leave England. Immediately."

"Couldn't I just get into one of the caves under the Manor in Wiltshire?"

Snape frowned. "I hope for your sake you're joking, though lately I'm not so sure. No, hiding at Malfoy Manor will bring down Aurors on your mother."

"Ireland, then," Draco persisted. "Or Scotland."

"Did you cast the Untraceable and Disorientation Charms on your wand like I taught you?"

"The moment I left the Ministry."

Snape plucked at his lower lip with his fingers, and started at the ceiling as he thought. "I think distance will be good in this case. The farther the better. Ireland and Scotland are too near."

Draco thought for a moment, then sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "I'll go to our chateau in Marseilles," he said softly. "I had hoped I would never have to go back there."

"While you're gone I will try and sort this all out," Snape said. "I'll search for an end to the blood feud, which will override the duel. But before that --" He paused and made sure he had the younger man's attention. "You must go to your wife."

Draco blinked once, twice -- _my wife. Ginny. My wife._ He stared down at the ring on his finger. Was it only last night that he had married her, and he had thought things were finally looking up for them? "She won't see me," he breathed, and as he said it his heart sank.

"How do you know she won't see you? Have you spoken to her?"

"I just fucking killed her _brother_, Severus!"

"But you won't know how she is until you see her," Snape said. "Go to her."

"Severus --"

"Go to her."

Draco sighed. "She has no reason to forgive me," he said, shaking his head. "No reason to take me back. I -- it's all done. All of it." He collapsed into a high-backed armchair by the door, head in his hands. "I've lost her."

Snape snorted. "Were you always this melodramatic, or is this a recent development?"

Draco glared up at him. "I'm thrilled that my life is able to provide such vast amusement for yours," he spat.

"I am not fond of repeating myself, and I'm not about to start enjoying it now." Snape waved his wand at the front door and it swung open, allowing bright, mid-afternoon sunshine to leak into the room. "She needs you now more than ever, Draco. Get out of my house."

Draco looked up at him, wordless. Then, closing his eyes in defeat, he stood and walked out the door. Snape heard him Apparate a moment later.

* * *

Molly and Arthur came to relieve Harry and Ginny of their vigil at nine the next morning, looking refreshed after several hours of sleep. All Ginny could think of was her warm, soft bed, and sleeping in it for the next month. She was still in the formal robes she had worn to the debate, and they were wrinkled from her having shifted her position on the hard hospital bench so many times.

"No Mum, he's not awake yet," Ginny said, stifling a yawn, when Molly asked. "We haven't been in to see him either."

"All right," Molly said, worrying her hands. "Well, the two of you go off and get some sleep. We'll owl you at once if Ronnie wakes up." Ginny dutifully kissed both of her parents on the cheek in parting, then let Harry lead her down to the ground floor of St. Mungo's and into the Apparition Room. The room was packed with outpatients, cured of their curious ailments, waiting in winding queues to use the four flat squares on the floor -- the Apparition Points. When they entered together, nearly all present turned to stare at them.

"You look exhausted, Gin," Harry said, putting an arm around her shoulders as they waited in the queue. "Why don't we go back to your flat?"

She nodded. "Er...I'd really like to be alone right now," she said, unable to look him in the face as she said it. "I'm just -- so drained, you know? First the debate, and then Ron --"

"No, I know how you feel," he said quickly. With guilt she recognized a regretful tone in his voice. "You're sure you want to be alone, though? I don't want you just curling up in bed and crying for days on end when you know I'm here for you."

"I know, and I appreciate it." She leaned her head against his shoulder.

"I should probably get to the Ministry anyway," Harry said bitterly. "I expect the manhunt for Malfoy has begun in earnest by now."

Ginny swallowed back the sob that rose in her throat. Her heart beat so quickly in her chest, at the mere mention of his name, it felt as though it was trying to pound its way out of her ribs. Dear God, Draco was a wanted criminal now. Why hadn't that occurred to her before? It was likely every active Auror in England was looking for him, to arrest him and throw him into Azkaban. He had avoided arrest before, shortly after the war, but she highly doubted that would happen this time.

Their turn came up, and Harry helped her stand on the Apparition Point and Apparate to the dark, narrow alley next to her building. It amazed her that the world was still moving on, moving forward: Muggle cars zoomed up and down the street, honking their horns at each other and pedestrians; businessmen on their cellphones talked a mile a minute as they hailed taxis; the teenage boy at the newsstand at the corner screeched out the day's scandals and tragedies. The world had not ended when Draco had cursed Ron. What an astonishing concept.

The Muggles looked at Ginny and Harry curiously, still dressed as they were in their formal robes, so Harry hurried them into her building and up to her flat. She was about to turn and thank him for being so understanding, and maybe invite him in for tea, when it happened again.

She had felt sick ever since Draco had fled the Ministry ballroom, and she was so used to it by now that it hardly fazed her. But they were standing in front of the door to her flat -- and she felt fine again.

No stomachache. No headache. No shooting pains throughout her joints and limbs.

_Oh God. Draco's inside my flat_.

She turned abruptly towards Harry in front of her door, a fake smile on her face. "You're a dear to do this for me, Harry," she said. "Thank you so much."

"If there's anything more I can do for you," he began.

"No. I'm just so happy Ron's going to be all right." She leaned forward and kissed the corner of his mouth -- enough to satisfy him, and prevent more of those Fidelity Charm pangs. "You look tired yourself, Harry," she said. "You should really get some rest too."

"Yeah, reckon I will." He stood and stared at her a moment, contemplative. He looked as though he was about to say something important, but he remained silent and the moment passed. "Ron is really lucky," he said finally. "We almost lost him today."

Ginny's eyes filled with tears for what seemed the hundredth time in the past twenty-four hours. "I know," she whispered, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. "God, Harry, if he had died..."

"Don't think about it," Harry said soothingly. "Everything's going to be fine, I promise." He brushed a kiss under her ear that hurt dreadfully, then pulled away. "Right. I'll see you later tonight?"

"Maybe. I don't know, I'm so tired." She yawned to illustrate her point.

"Okay. Love you." He bent to kiss her and she let him, bearing the pain for a few eternal seconds.

"Love you," she said, softly, too softly to hear, and she watched as he walked down the hallway, checked for Muggles, and Apparated away.

She released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and pressed her hand flat against her door. The wood hummed with the energy of her wards, always pulsing, always keeping out intruders. Ginny closed her eyes and searched through the intricate patterns Bill had woven in, looking, looking...

There he was.

A door opened farther down the corridor. Ginny saw it was one of her nosier neighbors, a middle-aged old maid who needed to know everything about everyone. Not wanting to have to explain why she was wearing strange robes, nor why she looked upset, Ginny waved her hand to unlock the Muggle locks and slipped inside.

The first thing that hit her was the smell: she could smell him. She didn't know if it was cologne or aftershave or lotion or just him, but it filled the air and overwhelmed her senses. Ginny pressed her back against the door and closed her eyes. Merlin, how she loved that scent. It was everything that made him who he was: cool, herbal, unique. She hesitated washing her bedsheets whenever laundry day came, for she knew she would have to go a few nights without being able to bury her nose into her pillowcase and smell him on it.

But now? Now what would they do? She was the daughter of Arthur Weasley, Ministry candidate; he was a fugitive on the run. Would she ever get to smell him on her bedsheets again?

The tears that had begun before Harry left started again in full force, and, releasing a giant sob, Ginny sank to the floor and hugged her knees to her chest. She cried for Hermione, who had nearly lost her husband; for Ron, who had almost lost his life; for Blaise, for Harry, for her parents; for them, her and Draco. Most of all for the two of them, for they had lost everything.

The air in the room changed; she couldn't have said how, only that she knew it had. Her face was in her lap, her eyes filled with saltwater, so Ginny had only her ears at her disposal -- she heard him enter the living room from elsewhere in her flat. He stood there a moment, not moving. Just watching her drown in her pain.

Rage rose like bile in the back of her throat suddenly, out of nowhere. How dare he attack her brother like that? And then, to come running here with his tail between his legs, expecting acceptance. Did he think she would forgive him, just brush it off as something equal to forgetting to take out the trash? Was he expecting a shag? Merlin, the arrogance of that bastard!

Ginny scrambled to her feet, wiping angrily at her tears, and her eyes fell on Draco, standing just inside the room, near the kitchen. He watched her, something broken about the way he stood and the way he looked at her. She missed it entirely, for in a few running steps she had crossed the room and slapped him soundly across the face.

"Why?" she howled, her tears not abating. "Why Ron? No matter what he's done to you or said to you, I know he didn't deserve that. I've just come from hospital and they said he almost died. Almost _died_, Draco! Did that possibility even occur to you when you pulled your wand on him?"

Draco only stood there with his head bowed, taking what she was dishing out in silence. Her handprint burned bright red on his cheek, in sharp contrast to his pale, almost sickly complexion.

She went on. "I thought you loved me," she said, her voice cracking. "We knew we couldn't be together, not the way we want to be, but we were going to work something out. Snape was going to help us. Our familes would understand and they would be happy for us. Everything was going to turn out all right, and then you had to go and fuck absolutely _everything_up Draco and oh God!" She buried her face in her hands and sobbed with abandon.

A moment passed, a moment in which Ginny didn't think anything could ever be right in her life, and then his arms were around her, pressing her against him so tightly there was no space between them. She flung her arms round his neck and clung to him for dear life, weeping into his shoulder. His lips were in her hair, on her neck, the side of her face. His hands were warm, his long fingers spanning her entire waist as he moved them up and down her back. She was amazed to discover that Draco's tears were just as wet as hers.

"And the worst part?" she said, between hiccups and sniffles. "The worst part is that I forgive you. For everything. I love you so much --"

"I love you, Gin," he breathed, lips brushing the shell of her ear. "God, I thought I'd never hear you say that again..." He pulled her even closer, burying his face in her hair.

Only now did she feel safe, she realized. Comforted, protected, loved. She had seen the way her mother had turned to her father when they heard Ron would live, how Luna had held George in her arms, how Bill had instantly sought reassurance from Fleur. Ginny had gone to Harry because it was automatic, expected, but she hadn't felt a thing. Now, though -- now that she was in the protective circle of Draco's arms she knew there was nothing she couldn't face, nothing that could hurt her. He wouldn't let anything reach her.

"Blaise." His uneven voice was just next to her ear.

"He's alive," she said softly. "Daphne and his mother are with him at St. Mungo's."

Draco sagged in her arms until she was supporting more than a little of his weight, and she felt his shoulders shake slightly. "And Ron," he whispered. "He's all right."

"He's going to be fine in about a week," Ginny said, a fresh wave of tears coursing from her eyes.

She released him a little, and led him to the sofa, where they sat down facing one another. He had managed to hold in more of his tears, so his eyes stood full to the brim, shining in the sunlight from outside; two lone trails dried slowly on his face. Draco reached up and tenderly wiped her cheeks with the very tips of his fingers. "Ginny," he said, his voice hoarse and full of longing. "I never meant for anything like this to happen --"

"I know," she said. She took his hands in hers and kissed his palms. "I just -- when I saw Ron lying in Hermione's arms, not moving or breathing..." She sniffed. "And Blaise too. All the blood. But I can't think about that now. They're both going to be okay."

"Ron insulted Blaise," Draco said, weaving his fingers through hers and hanging on. "He called him a Death Eater."

"I don't care," she said, raising her eyes to his. "It happened, we can't change it. I don't care."

He brought her hands to his lips then, kissing them reverently, every finger in turn, then a second time. Ginny slid her hands away from his and cupped his face, holding it in front of hers. She meant to say something more though she wasn't sure what -- something comforting, a word of forgiveness, of love -- but she didn't get it out because then he was kissing her, kissing her and her breath was stolen away. Even now, even when everything had fallen apart, he tasted sweeter than chocolate, and it broke her heart.

"What happens now?" she said, her cheek pressed against his. She had tangled her hands in his hair.

"I'm going to France," he said. His arms were around her again, one of his legs sandwiched between hers. "To Marseilles."

She bit back a dry sob. "When?"

"When do you want me to?" He pulled away and looked at her, and she could only look back for a few despairing moments.

"Not yet," she breathed. "It's only morning. Stay with me, just for today."

"I'll stay," he said, and she sobbed again, because this was it for them. It had come down to this one, final day, that they had to make last an entire lifetime.


	13. Morning Division

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not mine, though I very much wish that Draco Malfoy was.

**Chapter Twelve - Morning Division**

"_More light and light; more dark and dark our woes!"_

Ginny had thought that she could feel nothing after what happened to Blaise and Ron, and for the previous night it had been true. Her skin felt cold even to her, her bones were hollow like a bird's. She was empty -- no thoughts, no emotions; no more alive than a corpse in the ground.

But the moment Draco touched her again, wrapping his arms around her in a willing cage, it was like striking a match. The colors around her burst forth, brighter and more brilliant than ever, and she could feel everything: his lips on her skin. His hands in her hair. His heart pounding in time with hers. How was it possible to be this connected to someone, so completely in tune with one another that it was as though they shared the same body?

His hair teased her cheek as he kissed his way down her jaw, down to her collarbone. One of his hands snaked under her robes, and his hot palm against her stomach made her shudder. She arched into him, coming alive. "Please," she sighed in his ear, and his breath caught audibly.

In a few graceful movements, Draco lifted her up from the sofa and carried her towards her bedroom. She buried her face in his neck, hoping he would let her cast some Freshening Charms on herself. Ginny knew she looked a mess. Her clothes were from yesterday, her hair was flat and lifeless, her face puffy and red from sobbing nonstop for hours. Her wand slid against her leg in its pocket in her robes, reminding her that a quick spell was all it would take. Draco looked amazing, as usual, even with the dried tears on his face and the haunted look in his eyes. He wore elegant dress robes that still looked neatly pressed and laundered, and not a strand of his hair was out of place. When he lay her down across her bed, Ginny had to look away, certain that he was turned off by how ugly she was.

"If you -- can wait a minute," she managed, rubbing her nose, "I can do some spells --"

"You look beautiful," he said, and he bent his head and kissed her. Slowly, he lowered himself on top of her, and she moaned at his delicious weight. He took his time, tasting first her top lip, then the lower. She shifted under him, impatient, and he opened his mouth and let his tongue slide along hers, but still he moved carefully, deliberately, as though savoring every moment and making it stretch into two. Ginny slid her hands up on either side of his face, feeling his heart pound in his temples.

"I look horrible," she whispered.

He kissed her neck and she felt his teeth, biting her delicate flesh. "Impossible," he said, and there was an amused smile in his voice. "I will never understand women."

She scoffed and pushed at his shoulders, forcing him to meet her eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?" Ginny asked, indignant.

"You're fishing for compliments, that's what it means," he said. "Going on about how you need to do Glamour Charms to look good. Rubbish, all of it."

She rolled her eyes. "Draco, look at me. I'm all red and puffy and --"

He cut her off with a laugh and a kiss. "There you go again. You're practically _begging_ me to tell you that you don't look that bad."

"I would never --"

"So I'll oblige you, if it'll shut you up and I can get on with the task at hand." Draco bent his head again and kissed the sensitive area just behind her ear. Ginny shivered and dug her nails into his back. "I love this spot," he murmured, his breath hot on her scalp. "I think you must put perfume here, because it always smells like flowers."

"Merlin...Draco..." Her voice was weak and her mind unfocused.

Next his fingers went to the front ties of her robes, and he slowly undid them, revealing the matching shift she wore underneath. "And here," he said, dipping the tip of his tongue into the hollow above her collarbone; Ginny jumped in reaction. "I knew you were ticklish. You should stop denying it when I ask you."

"Am not," she muttered. With her help, he pushed her outer robes off, leaving them to puddle on the floor beside her bed. The shift she wore underneath was plain beige linen, with a row of tiny buttons front and center. He kissed her mouth again, plunging deeper than he had before, and nudged her legs apart with his knee. She moved for him, and he settled his hips almost flush with hers, sending a bolt of pure electricity from her core straight to her heart.

"I want to play too," she said abruptly, giving him a mischievous look. Without waiting for an answer, she gripped his hips with her legs and flipped them over, coming to rest on top. He raised his eyebrows at her wordlessly. "If you're going to talk about how brilliant I am, I want to do for you as well."

"Ginny --"

"No talking." She undid his outer robes and tossed them aside to join hers, then started working on the plain white oxford he wore underneath. "I love how you always have a little bit of stubble, but you can't see it because your hair is so fair." As she spoke, she let the tip of her nose trace the angle of his jaw, his Adam's apple. The coarse hair on his face rubbed at her skin, and she felt him shudder under her. One swift jerk and his now-unbuttoned shirt was untucked from his trousers. Ginny ran her hands down his torso and watched as his eyes fluttered, as his neck arched back. "I love how sensitive your nipples are," she whispered, as though relating a great secret, and she lowered her mouth to swirl one with her tongue. A sound like something between a hiss and a growl escaped his throat. "I knew you liked it," she said, grinning evilly. "You should stop denying it when I ask you." She moved to the other nipple and bit it slightly, loving the sound that he made.

"Do not," he retorted, and she was once again under him while he flung off his shirt. "Merlin I hate buttons," he said, and, muttering some spell under his breath, he ran his finger along the ones on her shift and they undid themselves.

"You'll have to teach me that spell," she said.

"Not right now," he said, his voice lower than normal. He stripped her of her shift and then reached behind her and undid her bra with one expert flick. That, too, had soon joined the increasing pile on the floor, along with their shoes, which landed with soft thuds on the carpet. "Love your tits," he muttered, before his mouth latched onto her left breast. Ginny curved her body towards him, moaning. She threaded her fingers through his hair and held him there as he licked and sucked, her hips straining against his, needing, wanting, craving more. His hand stroked the soft underside of her other breast, sending powerful shockwaves through her whole body.

But she was still determined to match him in his own game. Struggling to think clearly, Ginny gasped out, "I love how you -- react when -- I do this." She pushed her hands through his hair and dragged her nails down his bare back. Draco responded immediately, jerking his hips towards hers and groaning.

The movement reminded her that he still had his trousers on. "Overdressed," she said, and her fingers trailed from his back to just below his navel; he shivered while she fumbled with the clasp of his belt. The stubborn thing did not want to come undone. "Some help, love?"

"Do I have to do everything?" Draco teased. Obligingly, he shifted to one side and undid his belt. Some more maneuvering -- scattered throughout intense, heart-stopping kisses -- and his trousers and boxers, and her panties, had made it to the pile on the floor, and they were both gloriously naked.

He paused, though, instead of continuing his addictive kisses, and studied her body in its entirety. She felt his gaze almost as though he were touching her: caressing her shoulders, her breasts, her stomach, the cloud of hair between her legs. Ginny's face grew hot under such thorough scrutiny, and she pulled her arms away from him to cover herself.

"Don't," Draco said softly, grabbing one of her wrists. "Gin, you've nothing to be ashamed of. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Just like that she was falling in love with him all over again, just as hard and as fast as she had the first time. He was astonishing, a real-life Adonis, perfect and untouchable in her eyes. She would never meet another man like him; he was the only one of his kind. And at the very same moment she realized how deeply she needed him, the events of the past day came rushing back to the forefront of her mind.

"What am I going to do without you?" Ginny whispered, lifting his hair off his forehead. "How am I supposed to breathe?"

"Come with me to Marseilles," he said, his eyes bright. "We have a chateau and a private beach, and servants and about a million protective wards -- you'd never want for anything, Gin. I'd take care of you."

She shook her head. "My family," Ginny said. "I can't leave my family."

He sighed and bent his neck. "I knew you'd say that."

"It's true. They need me. But let's not talk about that right now." Her leg slid up the outside of his, and she put her hands on his lower back to pull him closer. "Let's not think about anything else right now except each other."

"Sounds fine to me," he said, before he kissed her again.

* * *

"Favorite food." 

"Sugar quills," he said, not even hesitating.

"That's not a food, that's a candy."

"You eat it, don't you? Fine...my mother makes smashing plum pudding."

"Something that's not candy _or_ a dessert."

"You're no fun, you know that?"

Ginny laughed and shied away as he started tickling her. "Just answer the question, Draco."

"_Quiche Lorraine_."

"See? That wasn't so hard. My favorite food is my mum's chicken and ham pie."

"Favorite band."

"The Weird Sisters, of course. I went and saw them in Exeter with Bill and Charlie."

"Icarus and the Wings. Icarus Jones has a home in Salisbury and I visited him there."

"You mean you actually like rock music? Merlin, next you'll say you think Muggles aren't all that bad."

Draco snorted. "Good thing I didn't tell you I'm a closet Stone Roses fan, then."

"_What?_"

"Careful, Ginny. Your face might get stuck that way."

"Wait, you're not going to tell me you're just joking?"

"I'll have you know I think 'Sally Cinnamon' is an excellent song."

"There's no way in hell you're being serious."

"If your face gets stuck that way, I'm filing for divorce. Favorite Quidditch team."

"I'm still waiting for you to tell me you're putting me on."

"Mine's the Falmouth Falcons."

"Montrose Magpies, but don't ever tell Ron that. How did you ever come to hear of the Stone Roses?"

"Favorite Chocolate Frog card."

"Wendelin the Weird's always makes me laugh. Did you hear one of their songs at a club?"

"Cliodna, the Irish druid. She winks rather suggestively at me whenever I look at her."

"Seriously, Draco, how is it possible that you like a Muggle band?"

"I just do, all right? Blaise introduced me to their music."

"My world has been completely flipped upside-down now, you know."

"Let me flip it again."

"Draco!"

* * *

When they had regained their breath from their last bout of lovemaking, Ginny found herself on the verge of falling asleep. The night before she had been wide awake, sitting in the corridor outside Ron's hospital room at St. Mungo's, and before that had been her wedding night. Her eyes howled for rest at last, the peace and oblivion of slumber -- but she fought it. If all she had were these last hours to be with Draco, she would be awake for every one of them. 

Ginny said the first thing that came to her mind. "Where will we live?"

He shifted slightly on her shoulder, and she knew he had been on the brink of sleep too. "What do you mean?" he murmured.

"Would we stay in London? Or go to live in Wiltshire, or Devon?"

He paused, long enough that she feared he might have fallen asleep. Then, in that often uncanny way he had of knowing her thoughts, he started playing along. "I thought my set at Albany would suit for now. Mother can live at Malfoy Manor for as long as she pleases."

"You care for her a great deal," Ginny said.

He shifted, she thought perhaps uncomfortably. "She's my mother," he said simply, and Ginny didn't press him on the subject.

"Would you keep your position with Malfoy Enterprises?" she asked next, after a decent interval.

"Of course." He picked himself up off of her and moved over to her side. Ginny would have complained, shivering slightly from losing his comforting warmth, but then he helped her under the covers and she found she could look into his eyes this way. They twined their arms round each other, tangled their legs together. "Perhaps not in such a hands-on capacity. I would like to travel a bit."

"Me too," Ginny said, grinning. "I want to see Venice's canals, and go to Rio de Janeiro for Carnaval, and swim along the Great Barrier Reef in Australia."

He opened his mouth to contribute to her list, then shut it again.

She nudged him. "What?"

"You'll think it's childish," he said defensively.

She giggled. "Now you _have _to tell me where you want to go."

"China," he said. "Beijing. I -- want to see the New Year parades with the people wearing those long dragon costumes. I've always liked dragons."

Ginny bit her lip as a wave of bittersweet emotions came over her. "You would like my brother Charlie," she said, a tear trickling down her face. Draco caught it with the pad of his thumb and wiped it away. "He works with dragons in Romania."

"Where else do you want to go?"

"Geneva," she said, grateful to him for keeping the subject going. "You promised we'd go there someday."

"And we will," he said. He leaned in and captured her lips in a searing kiss.

* * *

Her resolve to stay awake faltered after they ate lunch. It was some time after noon -- two, maybe three o'clock -- and the sound of Draco's stomach growling in protest had set them off laughing and then trekking into the kitchen for food. 

"No, no clothes," he said, when she went to slip on her dressing gown.

"But I'm freezing!" she said, giggling when he tickled her. "And the curtains are all open. I'm not one to give the neighbors free shows."

He made a growling sound and kissed her neck. "I'm the only one who gets free shows, Mrs. Malfoy," he said, and he pulled on his trousers and followed her to the kitchen.

The meal they ate together was nothing elaborate, nothing fancy -- only bangers and eggs on toast, with cups of the Earl Grey tea Ginny found at the back of her cupboard. They had barely begun when Draco decided he wanted to feed her. Ginny reciprocated, and it wasn't long before they had moved on to kissing after every bite of food, and then she was sitting in his lap, food forgotten, and they made love on the linoleum floor, swift and urgent.

"You look tired," Draco said afterwards, tenderly pushing her sweat-damp hair back from her face.

"I haven't slept in two nights," she murmured.

"Neither have I," he said, and as if on cue he yawned. "We should. Sleep, that is."

"No," she said, blinking against her exhaustion. "I'm all right, we can talk some more."

He chuckled as he carried her back to her bedroom. "Can't talk while you're asleep, Gin."

"I think Fred would disagree," she said. She curled up into him as soon as they were back under the bedcovers. Already, her eyelids were heavy and difficult to hold open. "I've been startled awake at night because he's shouting about something or other in his sleep. Wakes up the entire house."

"Sh." He brushed his lips against her forehead and pulled her close. "No more talking."

"Don't leave while I'm asleep," she begged, digging her nails into his arm. "Please Draco, don't leave me --"

"I won't, Ginny."

"Promise?"

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I promise I won't leave you. Happy?"

She nodded, clinging to him. Draco looked down at her for a moment, running his hand through her hair. "I love you," he whispered, and he kissed the side of her face.

"Love you," she echoed.

As she dropped off to sleep she idly wondered, in the dazed manner of an over-tired mind, why her migraine had come back.

* * *

They slept through the evening and well into the night, for it was pitch black when Ginny finally stirred and opened her eyes. A look at the clock told her it was approaching two in the morning. Ron was probably conscious by now, her family gathered around him in his hospital room. Someone might have tried coming to her flat looking for her. Someone might have seen her lying in bed with a Malfoy. 

"Are you awake?" His breathy voice was right next to her ear when he spoke.

"Yes, I --" She half-sat up, looking towards the door.

"Luna came around seven," Draco said, running his hand up and down her arm. "She said she'd tell them that you were tired and wanted to sleep, but you'd come to hospital in the morning."

Ginny sighed in relief and relaxed back into his arms. "When are you...?"

"In a couple of hours."

Now it was real, more real than ever. Draco was going to France, and it was possible (more than possible, though Ginny wouldn't think the words) that she would never see him again. All that was left were these few precious fragments of time, for touching and holding him and storing up memories.

They were both on their sides, facing each other. His arms were around her, and one of hers was round his neck, where she toyed with the slight curl of his hair. She splayed her other hand across his pale chest, almost iridescent in the moonlight, right above his heart. The beat was steady, solid, unshakable.

She started crying when he placed one of his hands over hers. They waited for dawn.

* * *

"Did you ever cheat on me?" 

"Before we were married, you mean?"

"Yes."

"Some drunk witch kissed me at a club a few days after the masquerade."

Ginny considered this seriously for several moments. "Was there tongue?"

"No, but not for lack of trying on her part. Frankly, the thought of even chastely kissing another girl turns me off."

"Harry's not so bad, you know," she said, avoiding his eyes. "He's been so good to me. And I truly think, under everything, that he really, really loves me. I just don't love him. Haven't for a long time."

Draco opened his mouth to say something, and she put a finger over his lips. "I would close my eyes when I was with him," she whispered, gazing up into his silver eyes. "I would imagine it was you. That was the only way I could stand it. You have to understand, Draco, I had to keep being with him, and not break up with him, so it seemed like everything was still going as normal. If I had left him, my family would have been on my back about it and watching me like a hawk. They would have found out about you and me in a day. Less than."

"I proposed to you because Potter was going to," Draco admitted. "Luna told me. She saw the ring he bought."

Ginny's jaw dropped. "Dear Merlin," she breathed. "I -- I had no idea that --"

"And I was af-- I thought if he asked you, you would say yes."

"Everyone expects us to get married," she said. "He's like my mum and dad's seventh son. He's Ron's best mate. I just -- I've lived for years thinking that I should just go along with it, because it would make everyone else happy." She smiled sadly up at him and stroked his cheek. "Then I saw you at the masquerade, and you just blew everything to pieces."

"I often have that effect," he said, and they both smiled.

"Would you ever cheat on me?" Ginny asked, after a long stretch of silence.

"You have to understand the way men's minds work," he said slowly, frowning a bit. "Cheating on your girlfriend or wife implies that you've found someone better. A prettier witch, a smarter one, a funnier one, whatever. And..." Draco shrugged. "Right now, I honestly can't see myself ever needing to look for someone better, because you're --" He stopped, face twisted in disgust. "Merlin, you've turned me into such a pansy, Gin. I may never forgive you for that."

Ginny giggled and kissed him on the lips, taking her time enjoying it. "Just think of all the blackmail material you're giving me," she murmured, grinning. "I'll have you performing sexual favors for the rest of our lives."

"Would you ever cheat on me?" he said.

"No." She kissed him again. "Why would I go searching out someone else when everything I want is right in front of me?"

"If you're trying to get me to shag you again, it's working. Very well."

* * *

"Children." 

Draco said, "One would be fine," at the same time that she said, "I want three."

"Three?" he said, giving her a surprised look. "I'm not sure I could handle having three."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I'd be the one actually doing all of the work. Someone did tell you where babies come from, didn't they?"

"Cheeky wench," he said, nudging her. "Just because you'd be going through the pain doesn't mean I wouldn't be affected."

"Well anyway," she went on, oddly touched by his sentiment, "I'm just used to being around a lot of people. Having a house full of life and laughter. It's the most wonderful thing there is, and I can't imagine living with anything else."

"But you've no desire to top your mother," Draco said dryly.

Ginny playfully shoved him back into the pillows. "There's crazy, and then there's Mum," she said, smiling weakly. "I couldn't do seven. Three, yes. Seven, no."

"Two boys and a girl."

"And the first boy would be Julius Alexandros, Alex for short."

He raised his eyebrows again. "You've really thought about this," he said, sounding suspicious.

Ginny blushed, suddenly embarrassed, and ducked her head into his warm chest. "I just -- I don't know, maybe I've been listening to my brothers' wives talk about their kids too much."

"Julius Alexandros," Draco said, drawing out the name as though tasting it. "At least it's not an aberration like 'Draconis'."

Ginny warily lifted her eyes to his and found him gazing back at her with nothing but love and adoration. She smiled tremulously. "I happen to like the name Draconis."

"Shame it's not your name then, isn't it?" he said, giving her a lopsided grin. "So Alex first. Then...?"

"The girl."

"Narcissa," he said promptly. "Mother would murder me if we didn't name her only granddaughter for her."

"That's pretty," Ginny said. "And then there's Marius."

"Marius Malfoy," Draco said, lifting his chin slightly. "A stunning young man blessed with his mother's wit and his father's devastating good looks."

Ginny chuckled. "Wow, you're not too full of yourself, are you?"

He snorted and traced his fingertips down her side; Ginny shivered at the sensation. "Well I know you didn't marry me for my personality," he said. "It has to be my aristocratic features."

She curved her hand around his cheek. "You underestimate your own worth, Draco," she said softly. "You're the most amazing man I know."

"Ah. Now I'm reminded why I married you." He kissed her and rolled on top of her. "You're always willing to stroke my ego -- among other things," he added with a lusty wink.

Ginny smirked and rolled them over again. "Have you ever been on bottom?" she asked, grinding against him.

His fingers dug into her hips. "No," he gasped, "but something tells me I'm going to enjoy it very much. Got to get to work on Julius Alexandros, after all."

Ginny smothered the sob that rose in her throat by kissing him, hard, fierce.

They both ignored the fact that they knew their little family would never exist.

* * *

She must have dozed off again for the next thing she remembered, Draco was behind her, kissing her neck and shoulders. His hand wandered across her belly, up to graze the underside of her breast, then down, down between her legs. Ginny moaned and turned onto her back, arching slightly towards him. 

The room was no longer black, lit only by the golden Muggle streetlamps outside. A sickly gray pallor had entered, painting everything within sight the same dull, monotonous color. The bakery down the street had opened for the day's business, the little bell over its door ringing cheerily into the dispersing gloom. Early morning traffic was still a low murmur, but Ginny knew it wouldn't be long before it picked up and horns would be honking, merchants would be coming to work, the mechanical workings of a city would start up.

Dawn had come.

Draco swept a flyaway curl of hair from her face. For a moment they merely stared at one another, the only sound the in-and-out of their breaths, but it was a moment that moved them both profoundly. Enlightenment brought despair, knowledge carried with it painful reality. This was it, their last hour together. They both realized it at the same time.

"I am so in love with you," she breathed, her voice hitching on the words.

His eyes darkened hungrily. "God, Ginny," he said, before he kissed her fiercely, releasing all of his agony, all of his passion and obsession and lust on her. He tasted like hope, and love, and a bright future, where they didn't have to hide their feelings for one another, and her mother let Alex and Narcissa and Marius help de-gnome the garden, and that soft, wonderful smile was always on Draco's face instead of just when he was with her, and everything was filled with joy and happiness.

Draco slid inside her in one smooth motion, his breath catching in his throat as they came together. They filled each other's missing pieces and complemented each other so flawlessly, there was no end, no beginning, to one or the other. Ginny arranged her legs around him and kissed him again, and again. His grip on her hips shifted and, as though it took a monumental effort, he slid out of her and back in. Ginny made a satisfied noise, her mouth a perfect O, and her eyes rolled back in her head. Her fingernails dug into his skin as he moved, leaving red half-moons.

"I love that sound you make," he said, nuzzling her neck and planting slow, thoughtful kisses down to her collarbone. Her arms tightened around him and he moved, prompting another aural response. "There's nothing else like it."

Ginny lifted her hips, bringing hers flush against his. They both cried out, and the intensity, the fire between them skyrocketed, higher and higher. "Draco," she sighed, kissing wherever she could reach. "Draco, God, please..."

"Anything."

"I want -- I --"

"What do you want?" He took her hands in one of his and pinned them above her head, then continued kissing, down her neck, down her chest, to her breasts. Her groan was deafening when he started suckling on them, and she curved her body towards his hot mouth, craving more.

"I want you," she cried breathlessly. "Don't stop, don't stop --"

"Never." He thrust again and it was almost too much to bear, this feeling of utter completion and perfection. They both felt it -- it hummed through their veins like a disease, like something alive on its own. Every movement they made was heightened, strengthened tenfold, and it was all him and her and them together, nothing else.

"Draco," she moaned, writhing under him. "I need --"

"Let go, Ginny," he whispered hoarsely into her ear, his entire body shaking. He must have been close, as close as she was. "Let go. I'll always catch you."

He moved one last time and her back arched off the bed as her climax came, shooting like fireworks up and down her spine, radiating like the very sun. Ginny screamed his name for all the world to hear, sobbing from the strength of her love for him. And then he found his release, her name torn from his lips almost unwilling, and they were floating in their own safe bubble world, where there was nothing and no one to keep them apart. Draco slipped out of her and collapsed on her shoulder, his skin coated with a sheen of sweat, and they gasped and tried to return to Earth.

* * *

She tried not to cry, she really did. There had been enough tears in the past two days for a year, enough sorrow for a lifetime. She would try to channel Daphne Greengrass again and be tall, proud, visibly unmoved though terrible things worked away at her heart and soul. Draco would be grateful to her for holding it in, for keeping a stiff upper lip. Their parting would go smoothly and as painlessly as possible. 

As soon as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his clothes, the first tear fell. By the time he stood before her fully dressed, his formal robes slightly wrinkled but still wearable, she had wiped her eyes dry and gazed at him solemnly, unthinking, unfeeling. Allowing herself to feel anything but indifference would hurt far too deeply.

"Well," he said. It was a word to fill space. He uselessly double-checked his cufflinks and straightened his outer robes for the umpteenth time.

"You're going to Marseilles, you said?" Ginny knew very well where he was headed. The city name was burned in her memory.

"We have a chateau on the coast. I stayed there with my mother during the War." He looked out the window, and the ever-increasing dawn light painted him white, white all around, like a black-and-white photograph. He looked lifeless as a corpse. "Snape will watch over you. Go to him if you need anything or need to send word to me."

"All right," she said softly.

"I should go before I'm found," he said, but he didn't move. He turned away from the window and looked at her. Meeting his eyes, when there was such sadness and regret in them, was almost more than she could stand.

"I'd rather have you alive and in Marseilles, than dead or in Azkaban," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "You have to go."

"I know."

She pushed forward in the bed, bringing the bedsheet along with her and wrapping it around her chest like a bath towel. Silently, she took his hand in her free one and led him out of the bedroom, down the hall, and into the living room. The front door looked cruel and unforgiving.

He squeezed her hand and she turned towards him, and then she was in his arms, holding him like her life depended on it. Her entire body ached for him. She had to bite her cheek to stay her tears.

"I love you," she whispered. "So much."

"I love you too," he whispered back. "This isn't goodbye, Ginny. I _will_ see you again someday, I promise."

She memorized everything about that moment: how broad his shoulders were, his herbal scent, the smooth skin of his throat. The way his heart pounded in time with hers, with their chests pressed together. How his hands felt on the small of her back. His soft hair, his muscular arms. And when she knew that she would just stand there forever, her thoughts circling on each other over and over again, she forced herself to pull away.

"Don't let the pretty French witches make you forget about me," she said, in a lame attempt to joke. She scrubbed a hand across her damp eyes.

"You have nothing to worry about," he said. He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and brushed his lips over hers once, twice. Ginny trembled violently. "_A tout à l'heure, mon coeur. Je t'aimerai toujours_."?

Draco stepped back, just one single step, and it already felt like he was miles away. She clung to the bedsheet wrapped around her to keep from launching into his arms. Another step. His eyes never left hers as he moved away from her, and she knew what it was like to feel real pain, pain so great it consumed her whole.

And then, too soon, he was by the door. He opened it and went through and was gone, as though he had never been there at all.

Ginny walked in a daze back to her bedroom, not seeing any of the things she passed by. She was half of herself, incomplete, broken. Her feet knew the way, and that was the only thing that kept her from walking into walls or furniture, from running out to him and begging him not to leave. The bedsheet dragged behind her like a queen's royal train. Like the white train of her wedding dress, only these sheets were dark red.

Even from her bedroom at the back of the flat, she was able to hear the sharp _crack_ in the hall as Draco Apparated away, and it was that sound, the sharpness and the finality of that sound, that undid her. Ginny collapsed onto her bed, her face pressed into the pillow he had slept on, and burst into anguished tears.

?-So long, my heart. I will love you always.


	14. Desperate Tender

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not mine, but Draco Malfoy is (in my dreams, that is).

**Chapter Thirteen - Desperate Tender**

"_Is there no pity sitting in the clouds/ That sees into the bottom of my grief?"_

Luna knocked on the door to Ginny's flat at nine-thirty in the morning, hoping beyond hope that Draco was long gone. She had been horribly embarrassed when she had come last night and he answered the door, wearing only his trousers, to take her message. Of course she knew what they were probably doing, as it was their final night together before Draco fled the country, but the last thing Luna had wanted to do was intrude upon them. Love was something private and intimate, Luna had always thought -- inaccessible by outside parties.

There was no answer when she knocked, not the first time or the fourth, so Luna let herself in. The door was unlocked. The flat was eerily still, lifeless, harshly lit by the sunlight bouncing off the snow outside. "Ginny?" she called. No response. Luna moved farther in, and shut the door behind her.

Food lay on the countertop in the kitchen: a cold, half-eaten plate of bangers, with a blackened bread crust and broken eggshells lying nearby. A teapot sat on the stove, still hot from self-renewing Heating Charms; Luna undid them and poured out the steaming water. "It's Luna," she called. Still no response.

She found Ginny in bed, with all of the blankets and coverlets and quilts in the whole flat piled on top of her, bundled around her as though nothing could warm her. Her hair was limp and flat, without the slightest curl, and her eyelashes were clumped together from tears that seemed all too recent. She was fast asleep.

Luna knelt beside the bed, hating herself for having to wake her. "Hey," she said quietly, shaking Ginny's shoulder. "Time to get up."

"Draco?" Ginny whispered, stirring. As she blinked away sleep, more tears slid down her cheeks.

Luna swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. "No, it's me," she said. "I've come to take you to hospital. Ron's been asking for you."

"Ron," Ginny said, sounding almost as though she didn't know who that was. She met Luna's eyes, then looked beyond her to the room around them. "I don't want to go."

"Oh, Ginny," Luna said, stroking her hair gently. "I know you don't want to. I don't want to be the one to take you either, but we must do what we must."

"He's coming back, right?" Ginny said. Luna was haunted by the lost look in her eyes, and knew immediately that 'he' was not Ron. "He's got his company to run, and his mum to look after... And he'll come back?"

"You mean the world to him," Luna said, remembering how Draco had looked when Snape pronounced them husband and wife. "Of course he'll come back."

Ginny started crying again, and buried her face into her pillow. "I ache, Luna," she said. "I just hurt all over and I've got a migraine like you wouldn't believe and I want him back."

"You know he can't --"

"I know, and that's the worst part." She uncovered her face. "I _know_ he can't be here, I know he had to go, and yet I can't -- Merlin, I just...can't." She pressed her hand over her mouth, holding in her sobs.

Luna straightened and sat down on the edge of the bed, still stroking Ginny's hair, until Ginny had calmed down again. "You have to go to St. Mungo's," Luna said quietly. "You can't come up with excuses forever. Neither can I."

"Yes," she said, nodding. "I'll go. And I'll smile for them and they'll overlook me yet again."

"I'd be careful around Hermione," Luna said, her hand stopping in Ginny's hair. "I think she might know something. She kept talking about Draco attacking Ron, and then she'd bring up you and ask how you were."

"I don't care anymore," Ginny said bitterly, sitting up. The covers slid from her and Luna looked away, realizing that Ginny was likely naked under the blankets. "I might as well tell them, now that everything's gone to hell. They'll fuss and shout and Harry will want to kill Draco, but they can't make me feel any worse than I already do."

"Get dressed, Ginny," Luna said. "Take things one at a time."

"What if I did join him in France?" Ginny said. She grabbed Luna by the arm. "He asked me to yesterday. What if I waited until Ron was all right, and then I explained everything to them and left before they could react? We could live in Marseilles..." Her eyes widened as she thought of the possibilities.

"Is that what you really want, Gin?" Luna said gently. "To be so far from your mum and dad? Don't you want your kids to know their grandparents? Wouldn't you miss all your friends in England?"

Ginny slumped against the headboard in defeat. There was no sparkle in her eyes at all, no life. "Luna Lovegood," she said dully, "the voice of reason."

"I'm so sorry, Ginny. I wish --"

"Is it too much to want it all?" she said, clinging to the covers. "Is it too much to ask to have the man I love more than anything in the world, and my family too? Why am I faced with this choice and not anyone else? Why me?Why_ us_?"

Luna wanted desperately to be able to answer her question, but there was no forthcoming response, nothing that would bring her hope or relief from her pain. _Only human beings_, Luna thought. _Only humans can make others of their own kind hurt so badly._ But all she could say was, again, "Get dressed, Ginny. I'll wait for you outside."

Luna went into the living room and waited for Ginny to shower and dress. It was true what she had said earlier: Ron really had asked for her. He had floated back into consciousness late the night before, and in small groups, so as not to overwhelm him, the Weasleys had each gone in to see for themselves how he was doing. Ron had immediately noticed Ginny's absence.

"Gin?" he had asked, when it was George, Luna, and Harry's turn.

"She's exhausted," Harry had said. "She said she'd come by later. You really scared her, Ron. You scared all of us."

Afterwards, when Hermione had gone back into the hospital ward, Harry had turned to her. "Has Ginny contacted you at all?" he said. "I'm worried about her."

"I'm sure she's fine," Luna replied, patting Harry's arm. "Just tired. I can go check on her, if you like?"

"Would you?" That was when she had gone over and Draco had answered the door. She had thanked every star in the sky then that Harry hadn't decided to come himself.

Ginny came out of her bedroom, fully dressed and ready to go, and it was all Luna could do to conceal her shock at her entrance. She had picked out Muggle clothes to wear: one of Molly's hand-knit maroon sweaters with a navy blouse underneath, and a pair of comfortable jeans. What shocked Luna, what made her heart pound, was the fact that all of her clothes looked two sizes too large. And Ginny's hair had always been the loveliest red shade, the best-looking of all her brothers, in Luna's opinion. Even after having been washed and cared for, it still looked lank and scraggly. Her freckles stood out like dark splotches on her pale face, and there were faint, bluish half-moons under her eyes.

_The blood feud_, Luna thought, her breath sticking in her chest. _Dear Merlin._

"Sorry I took so long," Ginny said, pulling her hair back in a ponytail. "I...felt a little dizzy in the shower and had to stop a moment and put my head between my knees."

"That's all right," Luna said, doing her best to maintain her dreamy air. "Come on, they're waiting for us."

"I'm right behind you," Ginny said. They grabbed their outer cloaks and left her flat together. Luna wondered how she could get in contact with Snape.

* * *

"There she is," Harry said happily, when Ginny and Luna walked into the Spell Damage Ward; Ron had been moved out of the emergency ward after he regained consciousness. The other Weasleys grinned up at her. Harry flung his arms around her and drew her close for a kiss that felt like a slap in the face. "He's all right, Gin. He's going to be just fine."

"I'm so glad," Ginny replied, smiling up at him. She couldn't keep the tears out of her eyes, and surreptitiously wiped at them while Harry guided her to a seat beside him on the bench.

"Bill and Fleur are visiting him now," he said. "Soon we'll all be able to go in."

"How is he?" Ginny said. "Besides awake, I mean."

"His color is good," Charlie said, smiling kindly at her. "He's taking food again too, which the Healer said is promising. But hey, where've you been and why don't _you_ look so good?"

Ginny had been wondering that herself. She had grown accustomed to the pangs and aches that mysteriously came when Draco wasn't within sight, but these she felt now were not the same. They had started while he was still with her, for one, and they just felt -- different. Different in a very, very bad way. "I've been so worried about Ron," she said glibly. "I got so upset by everything that happened at the debate, I just needed some time to relax and calm down. I wouldn't have been any help to anybody yesterday, the way I was."

Molly stepped forward and pressed the back of her hand to Ginny's forehead. "Why, you don't look well at all, dear," she said, frowning. "Have you been eating?"

The thought of eating sent her back to yesterday afternoon, when _Draco fed her a piece of buttered toast from off of his own plate. There was so much butter on it, some dripped onto her chin as she chewed. He leaned forward and licked it off, then kissed her, tasting like the sugar he'd put in his tea._ Her heart surged at the thought of him, and she wondered if he was safe, wherever he was.

"I'm fine, Mum," she said, shifting away. "I haven't been sleeping very much, that's all."

"I know I won't sleep well for awhile," Angelina said scornfully. She sat on the other side of Harry, her dark hand entwined with Fred's freckled one. "Not while a git like Malfoy is still on the run."

"I'm increasing the wards around our house," Hestia declared.

"Do you have chills?" Molly asked Ginny.

"Mum, I'm all right," she insisted. "It's Ron, and Dad's campaign for Minister, and I just..." She sighed and closed her eyes. "I worry too much for my own good."

"Oh, Ginny dear." Molly bent and kissed her on the forehead. "Always so thoughtful, just like your father."

Ginny smiled, a tight, insincere smile, and nobody noticed save Luna.

Bill and Fleur left Ron's room then, and Harry jumped up. "Come on," he said, and he pulled Ginny to her feet. She had only time to say hello to Bill and Fleur in passing, before Harry was leading her into the hospital ward and down to the far end, on the right side. The other patients in the ward looked up briefly as they passed, then returned to whatever it was they had been doing.

Ron was laying prostrate in bed, not propped upright the way Blaise had been, and his skin looked dreadfully pale when contrasted with his hair and his dark blue hospital gown. When Ginny was closer she could see how he still labored to breathe, the air rattling in his throat -- but he was breathing, thank Merlin.

She went right up to him and grasped his hand. "I'm here, Ron," she said. "It's Ginny."

Ron's eyes fluttered open, and he slowly focused on her. "Gin," he said weakly, but he gave her a brilliant smile. "Thought you'd run out on me."

"On my favorite brother? Never." Tears came to her eyes. "I'm so glad you're all right, Ron."

"We all are," Harry said, coming up behind her and putting an arm around her shoulders.

"Have they caught Malfoy yet?"

Harry frowned, glanced briefly at Ginny. "No," he said gruffly. "We tried tracking his wand and his magical aura, and can't find a trace of him. It's like he disappeared into thin air."

"Good," Ron said, fists clenching. "Maybe he'll stay away for good this time."

"You're not exactly free from blame, you know," Ginny blurted out. Harry and Ron stared at her, and Harry's arm slipped from her shoulders. "You attacked Blaise."

"He attacked Hermione," Ron said through clenched teeth.

"Why are you defending him?" Harry said suspiciously.

"I'm not defending him," Ginny was quick to say, "I just don't think Ron is completely guilt-free the way you're making out."

"I know I'm not," Ron said, lowering his eyes. "Got a memo from my squad head. Wants to see me once I'm well."

"We know Ron's going to get reprimanded," Harry said matter-of-factly, "that's inescapable. But what Malfoy did is worse. You heard the Healer the other day, he deserves to be put in jail for using Sectumsempra."

"Yeah," Ron said.

Ginny scrubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand, trying hard to think happy thoughts, even for a moment. _Is he in France now? Is he safe? Does he miss me as much as I miss him?_ "Then you know never to do something like that again, Ron," she said. "I don't think the rest of us could handle it if Hermione or Mum went hysterical like that again. Once is enough."

Ron smiled affectionately up at her, and squeezed her hand. "I know, Gin," he said. His mouth opened in a huge yawn, which he barely covered with his free arm. "Sorry, but I think it's almost time for my Blood-Replenishing Potion. See you later?"

"I'll be here," Ginny said. She bent and kissed his forehead, then let Harry lead her out.

They spent the rest of the day there, laughing and talking together as a family as they hadn't in some time. Charlie and Hestia gave Molly and Arthur a sampling of the names they were considering for their second child -- Hestia was five months along now -- and everyone took the mick out of Fleur for her gigantic belly.

"She looks about to burst," Penelope remarked.

"Maybe you're carrying twins," Molly said to her.

"Twins? But zey do not run in my family," Fleur declared throatily.

"They do in this one," Ginny said dryly, "and if they're anything like the demolition duo over there, watch out." The entire hall burst into laughter, including Fred and George, who slapped each other a high five.

"I would love to have twins," Fleur said, looking at Bill. He grinned back at her.

"Really?" Ginny said. "I could never handle more than one kid at a time."

"You say so now," Fleur said to Ginny, eyes twinkling merrily, "but wait unteel you are a muzzer yourself."

Ginny felt as though she had been doused in a bucked of cold water. "Oh Gin, you'd have such pretty children," Penelope said, clasping her hands together. "With your beautiful hair and Harry's eyes..."

_No,_ Ginny thought, frozen in place. _I want a blond little boy with gray eyes like storm clouds, and skin so pale it's almost translucent. My little Alex._

"Hey, you're scaring her," Fred said, laughing at the look on her face. "Cut it out, Penny. It's too soon for that kind of talk."

"Actually," Harry said suddenly, entering the conversation, "maybe it's not."

Everyone stopped, eyebrows raised in silent questions. Harry visibly faltered a moment, now that he had everyone's attention; he swallowed audibly, wiped his palms on his jeans. Then, setting his jaw, he turned to Ginny, ignoring the others. "Ginny," he said, deadly serious, "I love you."

Oh God. She knew exactly what was coming next. "Harry, what --"

"And I know that no woman will ever make me as happy as you make me," he went on, over her. "Hearing everyone talk about their children and their families had made me realize that...I want that too. For us. I want to have a family with you, and I want to spend the rest of my life making you and our children happy." He got up off their bench and knelt on the floor in front of her, and from his pocket he pulled out a black velvet box, identical to the one Draco had shown her three nights ago. He opened it, and inside was a glittering diamond ring, set in gold.

"Ginny," Harry said, eyes on hers, "will you marry me?"

She was physically incapable of speech. She opened her mouth and tried to work it, but her voice was broken, lost, gone. She wanted to shake him, to undo the Disillusionment Charms on Draco's rings and shove them in his face. "This is happiness, Harry, _this _is," she wanted to shout, at him, at them, and tell them everything -- about Draco, how he was the only man she would ever want, could ever want. Not Harry, who was more in love with his own vague idea of her than with the real her.

The situation, out of the blue, struck her as being somewhat absurd. There he was, unwittingly proposing to a married woman and expecting her to say yes. Because of course she was going to say yes, right? Hell, he'd asked her in front of her entire family, in a public place, and there were Healers standing down the hall watching them as though they were the love story of the week on the telly. He'd cornered her into saying yes, not asked and then prayed she would agree, the way Draco had.

Draco had been so nervous, she remembered. It had made her love him even more.

Ginny laughed incredulously, pressing her right hand to her lips, even as tears sprang to her eyes. Two marriage proposals in less than a week. How could she begin to explain the situation to him? "Harry --"

He took her laugh, her bewildered smile, the mere fact that she didn't give an immediate 'no' -- as an affirmative. They all did, for then the corridor exploded in cheers and whistles, and the Healers were running down the corridor to tell the others that the Boy Who Lived had finally proposed to Ginny Weasley and she'd said yes! It'll be the event of the year, and how lovely she'll look in her wedding gown! He took the ring out of the box and slid it onto her finger, and the noise in the hallway covered the sound the ring made when it clinked against Draco's invisible ones.

"I'm going to make you so happy, Gin," Harry murmured, gazing up at her intently. "I promise." His kiss was torture, and spoke volumes to the contrary. Harry embraced her then, crushing her in his arms until she could scarcely breathe.

Over his shoulder, Ginny saw Luna's glittering eyes, the unbearable pity and pain. And beside her, Hermione -- looking at her with something more than just congratulations.

Knowledge, perhaps. Or condemnation.

* * *

He had left Marseilles the last time at the height of summer, when the Mediterranean was a gorgeous shade of cerulean and hardly a cloud marred the sky. They had been there little more than one year, sitting in silence or reading or strolling along the white beaches, while the War went on in England. Narcissa's sister Andromeda had been their only contact with home, and she had sent them scattered news through Floo calls and the Continental Owl Post.

That was how they had learned of Lucius's demise. Lucius had pushed them away when he learned that Voldemort was out for Draco's blood, for not killing Dumbledore. "Get to France," he had hissed, shoving clothes and supplies at them, practically kicking them out the front door of Malfoy Manor. "Wait for me there. Don't send word or expect any."

"Father --"

"Look after your mother," had been his parting words, before he had thrust one last thing, a coral necklace, at Narcissa. It turned out to be a Portkey, and she and Draco, who had had his arm wound through hers, were yanked out of misty Wiltshire and into sunny France.

Lucius had been good as his word and had not sent them any news. No, they had heard from Aunt Andromeda how the Order had victory after victory, led by the courageous Harry Potter; how many Death Eaters were captured or killed. Narcissa would turn pale and silent as Andromeda recited the names of the dead and missing, and only when Andromeda had finished without mentioning Lucius would she sag in relief.

Until that day, that June day, a mere handful of weeks before Potter killed Voldemort. It had been the largest battle of the war up to that point, raging right on the grassy hills near Hogwarts. So many had died that day. So many, on both sides, and their bodies had littered the red-growing grass like a child's discarded dolls. Lucius, Andromeda reported, had been one of them, falling before the wand of an Order member.

Narcissa had not wept. Nor had Draco. But he woke late that night, from strange dreams that made no sense at all, to hear her silence ringing through the halls as loud as the most heartfelt cries. He had gone to her and found her sitting in her room looking out at the sea, and he wondered what he should say, but in the end he said nothing, only laid his head in her lap as though he was eight and not eighteen. Narcissa ran her hands through his hair, and neither of them spoke a word.

Now, in the heart of winter, the Mediterranean was wine-dark and turbulent with a storm coming in from the Rock of Gibraltar. Though it was warmer here than it had been in London, the sky was overcast and gray, with clouds scuttling swiftly past and not lingering for a visit. The furniture in the chateau was draped in white sheeting when he arrived, coated in dust after six years without use or purpose. For awhile, an hour or two, he waved his wand at the coverings and whisked them away, coughing and sneezing at the dust he inadvertently kicked up. Their chateau looked stiff, unlived in, and he thought longingly of Ginny's modest flat and the pictures of her smiling family on the walls, and her comfortable, mismatched furniture, and Merlin how she felt in his arms.

He Floo'd Snape once he had checked the suite of rooms he had lived in before, to let him know he had arrived in Marseilles. "You stayed longer than I thought you would," Snape said, crouching before his fireplace in Spinner's End. "But good, you made it out of England without being caught."

"How is Blaise?" Draco asked.

"Fine," Snape said. "I heard from Mrs. Callow that he was discharged this morning. Ronald Weasley has several days' strict observation yet before he can go home." He frowned sternly. "I still cannot believe you would use Sectumsempra on him. After Potter used it on you, you were well aware of how deadly it can be --"

"It was the first curse that came to mind," Draco said stubbornly. "And I couldn't care less about Weasley right now. I want you to keep a very close eye on Ginny for me. I don't think she's well."

"You told me earlier she looks like she's dying --"

"And she does," Draco finished, "so whatever you're doing to end the blood feud, speed it up."

Snape started in surprise. "How are _you_ feeling?"

"I'm all right," Draco lied. "I have to go, in case this hearth is being watched."

"Don't let anyone see you," Snape said, before Draco cut off the call.

But Draco was far from feeling all right. Not long after he spoke to Snape, the house elves that maintained the chateau served him lunch in the private dining room -- Draco ate a full meal, then rushed to the loo to be violently ill. For nearly half an hour afterwards he lay on the bathroom floor, his stomach heaving in protest, sweat standing out on his pale brow. He had ignored the signs before, pretended to forget Snape's warnings, went along with everything as though it was normal to hurt when he wasn't with Ginny. _It's something I ate_, he would tell himself, or, _It's flu season, everyone gets it_, or something else similarly optimistic, similarly deluded. Blaise had said it was because of the blood feud, and Draco had no doubt of that.

He had no doubt of it because it was obvious now: the wedding hadn't worked.

He didn't know how the pain he felt now was any different than before, but he knew it was, somehow. It was clearer, more focused and far more agonizing. The sharpness in his stomach was more than a bit of indigestion; the headaches more than a low throb behind his eyes. While before medicinal potions had at least helped to take the edge off his pain, they did absolutely nothing now. Sleep came with difficulty now, if it came at all, for he spent hours shifting and moving in bed, trying to get comfortable. He was utterly without relief from the barrage of his physical misery. It was serious now, rather than just an annoyance.

What had they done to each other, the Weasleys and the Malfoys, far down the corridor of time when the feud had first been declared? Had it been murder, dishonest business dealings, kidnapping? Something as trivial as a misplaced bet on a bloody Quidditch game? What awful, unforgivable things had Sebastian Weasley and Charlus Malfoy done to each other to merit such harsh payment? And why, for Merlin's sake, had they chosen to rest all of their cares on his, Draco's, shoulders? Was it really worth visiting their hatred of one another on the innocent heads of their descendants?

By noon on his second day, he couldn't move his joints without wincing in pain. Though it was cool out he had grabbed his heavy winter robes and gone for a walk down the beach. Every footstep was like treading on fire, exacerbated by the occasional shooting pain that meant Potter had touched Ginny, and he turned back towards the chateau far earlier than he had wanted to. Those pangs came more often now, more often than they had before he had left her. Potter was constantly in contact with her, and Draco would torment himself wondering what they were doing. Was Potter kissing her? Was she letting him?

He tried to eat again the next day, and again, he was horribly ill. Draco couldn't keep any food in his stomach at all, and his brow was damp with the effort of doing simple things like walking, sitting, breathing. He felt weak, distended, as though stretched out of shape and thinly spread over the same space he had occupied before. His clothes swam on him; he had to add another hole in his belt to hold up his trousers and pin the cuffs of his shirts closed around his bony wrists to keep out the chill. Nevertheless, he got up every morning, showered and dressed, pretended to eat breakfast, and walked around the chateau with the excuse of checking to see that none of his property had been stolen during his absence. The portraits of his ancestors watched him worriedly as he walked by, and the more gossipy ones -- gossipy for Malfoys, that is -- whispered when he was gone about what could be wrong with him. Every day he grew a little bit slower and came a little bit later, and the sharp facial features he had grown into stuck out, all points and angles.

Draco knew his ancestors watched him. He knew they saw every time he had to put a hand against the wall to overcome a dizzy spell, every time he coughed into his handkerchief and it came away spattered with blood. And finally, when he couldn't endure their silence anymore, he turned to one of the portraits, the one of Anastasia Mulciber Malfoy, and screamed, "Like seeing what you've done? Enjoy it, do you?" Raising his voice made him start coughing again, and his lips and the back of his hand were stained red.

"Blood feuds are vicious, nasty things," Anastasia said, looking at him distastefully. "You have only old Charlus to blame, boy, not I."

"What did Weasley do to him?" Draco said, looking at her and the other paintings in the gallery. Though usually they pretended to be asleep or ignoring him, they now paid him their undivided attention. "Why doesn't anybody know what happened?"

One of the oldest paintings, one of Julius Patricius Malfoy, snorted in amusement. "Only those that matter know what happened," he said, looking down his nose. "The Muggle-lovers and mudbloods have no need to know of our private family matters."

"Julius Lucius was supposed to tell you," said Julius Marcus, in the portrait beside him. "The father always tells the son."

"But he died when Julius Draconis was just eighteen," Anastasia reminded him.

"Ah," the portraits all chorused. "That explains it," Julius Cadmus said. "Then you have no idea why you were born to hate the Weasley family and everything they stand for?"

"My father told me nothing," Draco admitted.

"It was on both sides you know," Julius Patricius said solemnly. "The Malfoys are not entirely free of blame."

"Even the story we were told by our fathers may not be true," said Julius Marcus. "Such is the case with stories so old."

"Long ago, the Weasleys and Mal Fois were great friends," Julius Cadmus said. He was an elderly man, the oldest painting in the gallery, with long snowy hair, but his voice was strong and clear. "House Mal Foi came to Britain with William the Conqueror, without any allegiances or friends. The Weasleys extended the olive branch first, and we accepted gratefully. With their sway in the royal court, we were able to quickly gain influence with the king and his closest advisors."

"Sebastian Weasley and Charlus Mal Foi were the heads of their houses then, and they were hardly ever seen apart," Julius Marcus continued, his gray eyes looking down sadly at Draco. "Like Cadmus said, they were best friends, nearly like brothers. In their old age, they both decided that there was nothing they would rather see than their grandchildren wed, and their houses united at last. All lauded the idea, and the match was arranged."

"It was the wedding of the year," piped up a frail-looking young woman; the plate under her portrait read _Lusita Malfoy Bulstrode_. "Rosaline Mal Foi wore a beautiful gown, and the moment he saw her, they say Justinian Weasley fell madly in love with her. It was a joyous event. The women all cried." She wiped at her eyes with a delicate lace handkerchief.

"Then what went so wrong?" Draco said, even though he had a sinking suspicion he already knew the end to this story.

"It took several years," Julius Cadmus said, "but eventually Justinian grew tired of Rosaline. His love for her waned, though hers for him never did. She remained true, but his eye started to wander. And one day, Rosaline caught Justinian in their marriage bed with another woman."

"She was beside herself in grief and anguish," Anastasia said, her harsh tone softening. "Not a week later, she hung herself. In the letter she left behind, she wrote that if she had lived, she would always be split between hating him and loving him with her whole heart, and she couldn't bear living with such dichotomy."

"The Mal Fois learned what had happened and were furious," said Julius Marcus seriously, "none more so than Thibault Mal Foi, Rosaline's beloved brother. In a vengeful fury, he attacked and killed Justinian."

"Sebastian and Charlus were shocked and outraged by what had happened," said Lusita, tears flowing freely down her brushstroked cheeks. "They wept and mourned their grandchildren, and vowed that from that day forward, the Weasley-Mal Foi friendship would be no more. They swore with their blood, drawn from their own bodies, that their hatred would last forever and ever, without end, unless Rosaline and Justinian's deaths were avenged."

"Avenged how?" Draco asked, touching the wall beside him to remain standing.

"An eye for an eye," Julius Cadmus said cryptically, "a tooth for a tooth. What other price would be so great that both families would be unwilling to pay it for nearly one thousand years?"

Draco did not like the sound of that. "What can I do?" he said desperately, looking around him, at his ancestors. "How can I stop it?"

"It cannot be stopped," Lusita said. "It was never yours to control, and it would never obey your command."

"You love her, don't you?" Julius Patricius said observantly. "A Weasley. _The _Weasley." When Draco reluctantly nodded, he turned to the other portraits. "Then the time has come. The feud will end itself, since the families will not resolve it."

"The last of the old blood feuds will end, and a new, lasting peace shall reign in the wizarding world," Julius Marcus intoned.

"Why me?" Draco cried, pushing off the wall in anger. He stumbled in dizziness and fell to one knee, panting in pain and fear. "Why her? Why must _we _do this?"

"Do you believe in fate, Julius Draconis?" asked Anastasia, frowning at him.

"No," he declared.

"Pity," she said. "Fate obviously believes in you."

No, Draco decided, he didn't like the sound of that at all.


	15. Pale Flag

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Fourteen - Pale Flag**

"_Here's to my love!"_

Molly Weasley could not have been more excited if it had been George and Luna getting married. The moment Harry released Ginny from his arms, her mother took charge of everything, to the point where Ginny simply gave up fighting and let her. When had she ever been in control of her own life anyway? It had been her choice to pursue a relationship with Draco, true, but look what had happened with that. Her sole attempt at taking the reins, and he had ended up a fugitive living in an entirely different country.

It was her mother that decided they would throw a massive party to celebrate Ginny's engagement to Harry. "There are so many people that will want to come by and give their congratulations," Molly said, while a quill beside her scratched down name after name on a long roll of parchment. Ginny didn't even recognize half of the intended guests. "We must do _something_. It'll have to be indoors, though, what with it being December, so we couldn't have it here. How do you feel about the Leaky Cauldron?"

Ron was released from St. Mungo's five days after the Debate Debacle, as the _Daily Prophet_ had so wittily dubbed it, and he and Hermione were living at the Burrow while he recovered. Hermione buzzed around him constantly, fluffing his pillows and tucking him in and fetching books and magazines.

The only truly good thing that happened during those five days, and the ones following Ron's return, was that Ginny got Harry to agree to abstain from sleeping together. "Your parents must know we already do," Harry had said at first, astonished.

"No, they don't." It was, however incredible, the truth. "All they think we do is a lot of necking and maybe some heavy petting. Pureblood witches just don't _have_ sex before marriage, Harry. I really think we should hold off until after we're married."

He had hemmed and hawed a bit more, but when Ginny told him how much it would mean to her, he finally consented. All Ginny could think, while he hugged her and whispered that it would make their wedding night that much more amazing, was that she would never have to find out what being unfaithful would feel like while under a Fidelity Charm. The mere thought of the danger she had dodged make her feel weak.

Hermione was oddly silent and unusually unhelpful when Molly asked her opinion on different aspects of the engagement party. Sometimes when Ginny's eyes inadvertently met hers there was that look in her eyes again, the one that said she might know something more. Maybe Luna had been right. Whatever the reason behind Hermione's strange looks, Ginny did her best to avoid her as much as possible, and Hermione didn't say a word to her.

But something she had said earlier came to mind when Ginny woke up Friday morning, the day before the engagement party, and ran to the loo to be sick. Her stomach writhed and twisted on itself, constantly in agonizing motion, and she felt so ill that she started sobbing quietly. Her legs would no longer support her, after she had stood heaving for several minutes, and she sank to the bathroom floor in a graceless heap. _It's morning sickness_, she told herself despairingly. _Dear Merlin, am I pregnant_?

Anxious to know the truth, she canceled her lunch date with Harry and went to Neville's apothecary's shop in Hogsmeade to buy a pregnancy testing kit. Her face burned crimson as she pushed the bright pink package over the counter towards him.

Neville raised his eyebrows as he stared at the kit, then looked up at her. "Really, Ginny?" he said.

"I -- I don't know, maybe," she replied, not quite able to look him in the eye.

"But that's great, Gin! When did you --"

"How much is it, Neville?" she said bluntly.

"Nine Sickles, ten Knuts." She pulled the necessary coins out of her purse and dropped them into his outstretched hand. Before he could pester her with any more questions, she was out the door and down the street.

Her heart pounded somewhere near her throat as she entered the Three Broomsticks with her purchase hidden in her robes, and made her way to the ladies' bathroom. Even the smell of food cooking in the kitchens made her stomach curl in complaint. She ducked into the last stall in the row, locked the door shut behind her, and then set about unpacking the items inside the kit she had bought.

First, a disposable goblet full of navy blue potion. She put the lid down on the toilet and set the cup atop it. _Remove protective cover from potion_, the directions read. _With mild Heating Charm, warm contents until potion turns pale blue._ Ginny did, and waited until the color was just right. She hadn't been one of Snape's favorite students for nothing.

_Next, take several strands of your hair and place them into the potion. Stir counterclockwise twelve times, then clockwise nine times. If the potion turns light pink, congratulations, you're pregnant! Otherwise, the potion will become purple and difficult to stir._

Ginny plucked a few hairs from her head and dropped them into the cup. Then, taking out a rod from the kit, she began stirring, counting each rotation carefully. Her hand shook so badly, it took a great effort to keep it from hitting the sides of the cup.

When she was down to just two more clockwise stirs, she closed her eyes, unable to look. What would she do if the potion was pink when she looked down? What would she _do_?

The stirring rod stuck as she made the last rotation. She looked down. The potion had turned a dark shade of purple, and was thick and sticky like tar.

The test was negative.

Ginny sighed in relief, blinking to see that the potion was still purple and not light pink, and then hastily flushed the potion down the toilet. Unlocking the stall, she tossed the package and rod into the bin and then headed out.

And yet, even though she was relieved to know she wouldn't have to deal with being pregnant on top of everything with Harry and Draco, now that it had faded, all she could feel was fear. If she wasn't pregnant, and her inability to keep any food down wasn't morning sickness -- then what was wrong with her?

* * *

The delirium began on the fourth day, and was hard to shake after that. It only manifested itself at first with faint noises, and once something that sounded like his mother calling him. Then a shockingly vivid hallucination of Voldemort appeared in the dining room over breakfast, while Draco was reading _Le Monde Magique_. The house elves hadn't understood what he was raving about, and looked up at him concernedly.

"Master Draco is needing rest, oh yes," they said, then set about tucking him in and feeding him potions that never stayed long in his stomach.

Reality and fantasy blurred together, making him see and hear things that felt all too real. The day after seeing Voldemort he made to get out of bed, his head swam and his limbs shook uncontrollably; he was so weak he couldn't manage being upright anymore. He statyed in bed that day, and for the next several, thrashing around in his bedcovers, soaking them with his sweat. He heard Ginny singing a lullaby to him once, while he dozed fretfully, and he had wept openly when he opened his eyes and she wasn't there. Mostly he heard sounds from the night Dumbledore had died, the Death Eaters shouting curses and dodging hexes; or his friends, primarily Blaise, talking about when he and Daphne were going to get married.

Lucius appeared some days later, he didn't know how many, at the foot of his bed. He looked exactly the way he had the last time Draco had seen him: his face taut and smooth, mouth set in a harsh line, night black robes pristine. Draco looked at him then turned away, a lump in his throat.

"I'm sorry, Father," he said. "I'm sorry I failed you."

"Who will care for your mother?" Lucius said severely. "Who will inherit the Malfoy millions?"

"I said I'm sorry."

"Do you ever think ahead about the consequences of your actions?"

"You're dead!" Draco screamed. "You're dead, you're dead, you're not really there!" He opened his eyes and Lucius was gone.

He started coughing again, or maybe he had never stopped. Great racking coughs that shook his fragile frame, and he spattered blood all over his pajamas and bedcovers. The house elves changed his sheets for him, pressed cool cloths to his forehead, but he only grew sicker, and more distanced from reality.

Draco didn't know what day it was, for they ran together now, but one morning, he finally saw the one person he wanted to see most. She was there when he woke from a nightmare, brushing his hair back from his forehead the way she used to, and her beautiful skin shone in the early sunshine. "Gin," he sighed, and he reached for her.

She stepped back from the bed. "Come with me, Draco," she said. Her voice came from everywhere and nowhere all at once. "Why don't you come with me?"

"Ginny," he said, and he pushed back the bedcovers and reached for her again. She moved from him, and he collapsed in a pile on the floor. As he knelt there, panting, on hands and knees, she looked down at him impassively, then walked out of the room.

"Ginny, wait!" Draco said. He tried to stand, but he stumbled forward only a few steps before he was back on his knees. Determined to follow after her, he started crawling towards the door. "Ginny, God, please," he shouted. "Come back..."

"You won't come to me, Draco. You don't love me." Her words echoed in his head and hurt his heart.

"Ginny --" He dragged himself out of his bedroom and down the hall, moaning with every movement, towards the source of her voice. "You know I love you, please, Gin..."

_I need to get to her_, he thought, with an urgency that had no source. _She needs me. I have to protect her. I have to save her. She needs me._

Draco began crawling towards his Apparition Point.

* * *

Snape was shocked to find Luna Lovegood on his doorstep when he opened his front door. Never had he had so many former students at his home as he had in the past few weeks.

"How can I help you, Miss Lovegood?" he said, after stepping aside and letting her enter. He shut the door behind her.

"Something's wrong, Mr. Snape," she said. Her voice was firm, not dreamy or detached in the slightest. "Ginny looks worse than ever. The wedding didn't do it."

"I've heard as much from Draco," Snape said carefully, clasping his hands behind his back. "He said she was 'dying.'"

"Ginny is my best friend in the whole world," Luna whispered. "I don't want to lose her. Her family doesn't want to lose her."

Snape nodded, and his heart -- for he did have one, after all -- was touched by her entreaty. "The problem is," he said quietly, "if Ginny is ill, then Draco must be as well, but he is a thousand miles away in France. I need them together, to observe their symptoms and diagnose them."

"Send for him. Go retrieve him, if he can't make it himself."

"That's the issue: I cannot," Snape said bitterly. "I have been closely monitored by the Ministry since the end of the War, because of my Dark Mark. I cannot leave the country without notifying the proper authorities well in advance."

"I would go," Luna said, "but I don't know where he is, and I doubt the wards around the place would let me enter."

"Zabini knows where his chateau is," Snape said, as the thought occurred to him. He looked up at Luna. "Can you bring Ginny to me?"

"She's at a party this afternoon -- it starts in a few minutes, so I have to go soon," she said, after glancing at the grandfather clock standing nearby. "Harry Potter asked her to marry him and she didn't say no."

"Great Merlin," Snape muttered. He pursed his lips as he struggled to think of what to do. There were several potions that could possibly delay whatever effects they were feeling -- but he had no idea how advanced Draco's illness was. For all he knew, Draco had been telling the truth last week when he had said he was fine, but knowing him and his damned foolish Malfoy pride...

"We have to act before it's too late," he said.

"What if it already is?" Luna said, her eyes wide.

"Watch over Ginny at this -- party," Snape said, spitting out the last word. He moved silently towards a cupboard in the corner, and opened the doors to reveal a vast array of multicolored potion vials. "If she shows any signs of growing weaker -- even the slightest bit -- I want you to give her this and bring her to me immediately." He selected an acid green potion and pressed it into her hand. "This may protect her for a while longer until we can decide what to do next."

"Thank you, Mr. Snape," Luna said fervently, and she glided out of the house.

Snape wasted no time going to his fireplace and throwing in a handful of Floo powder from the small bowl on the mantel. He stepped into it after the flames flared and shouted, "Zabini Manor," and he was spiraling away through countless hearths.

He strode out into the visiting parlor and started brushing away soot even before his head had stopped spinning. A house elf automatically popped into view to ask him who he wanted to visit, but Snape swept past him without a word and headed for the back of the mansion, towards the solarium. He knew Blaise would be there, in his favorite room.

Blaise was seated in a wicker chair by the window, Daphne at his side, when Snape burst into the room, the door banging against the wall. Blaise barely batted an eye at his appearance. "Always like to make a show, don't you, Sev?" he said dryly.

"How are you feeling?" Snape said, cutting past the formalities. "Are you up to Apparating?"

Blaise's jokey manner vanished. "Is it Draco?"

"I need you to fetch him from Marseilles for me. Now."

"He couldn't possibly!" Daphne said, clutching Blaise's forearm. She looked up at Snape pleadingly. "He just got out of hospital, he's not well --"

"I'm fine, Daphne," Blaise said, covering her hand with hers. "I've been fine for days." He stood and nodded to Snape. "I'll do it."

"Leave as soon as possible. Within the next few minutes, if you can, and bring him to me."

Blaise nodded, but then hesitated. "Should I get Narcissa?"

"No," he said, with more conviction than he felt. "With luck that won't be necessary. I'll see you in an hour or so."

Blaise nodded again, and Snape stalked out of the room.

* * *

Daphne wept when he left, swearing that he wasn't up to international Apparition and would surely splice himself, but Blaise knew he had to go. Draco was his best friend. He couldn't turn his back on him. Blaise had been to the Malfoy chateau nearly every summer while he and Draco were children and classmates together at Hogwarts, up until Lucius was imprisoned and Narcissa lived for nothing else but her visits to Azkaban. With his hundreds of fond memories from that enchanted place, Blaise was easily able to conjure a picture of the place in his mind, and Apparate away.

The chateau was utterly silent when he arrived in the front hall. "Draco?" he called, not sure if he expected an answer or not. There was none. His shoes clicked on the highly polished floor as he walked forward, looking for any sign of life at all. "Draco, come on, I know you're here somewhere." He kept his voice light, unconcerned.

A house elf, shaking with nervousness, suddenly popped into existence not a few feet from him. "Master Blaise!" the elf squeaked, tugging on its dishcloth garb. "Master Blaise must come right away. Master Draco is not being well."

Cold fear pricked at Blaise's heart. He said something to the elf -- later, he couldn't remember what -- and he followed the little elf at a half-run, down hallways and through empty rooms, until he entered the small space where he knew the private Apparition Point was. Draco lay sprawled face-down on the floor, arms and legs at uncomfortable angles, his pajamas spattered with blood. He didn't look like he was breathing.

He didn't even look alive.

Blaise ran to him and knelt, heart pounding up somewhere near his mouth. "Draco," he said, and he reached out and shook his shoulder. "Damnit, Draco, _wake up_."

Draco stirred, weakly, and his eyes fluttered open just as Blaise was about ready to believe him dead. "Blaise?" Draco said, peering up at him.

"The one and only, mate. I'm getting you out of here."

"Unh." Draco moved his legs restlessly, his face scrunched in pain. "Yes, I -- need to get back home. Lucius said -- Mother -- needs me. He said -- haven't been a -- a good son."

Blaise's head swam. Dear Merlin. Dear God in heaven. He was even worse than Snape must have suspected, worse than Ginny. "Lucius died six years ago, Draco," he said. Blaise pulled out his wand and cast a Featherweight Charm on him, though he doubted Draco weighed much if the bony ankles poking out of his trousers were any indication.

"I know," Draco said gruffly. He coughed, and Blaise saw blood drip onto the floor from the corner of his mouth. "I'm not stupid. But I -- heard him say it."

Blaise stood, and gently pulled Draco up and draped one of his arms around his shoulders. "Can you walk?"

"Tried," Draco said, head lolling on his neck. His entire body tensed, quickly, and he muttered something that sounded like "bloody fucking Potter."

"You're slipping, Malfoy," Blaise said, too cheerily, to keep himself from crying out in defeat. "Look at yourself. What would your mother say if she saw you looking so unkempt?"

"I can't -- spells," Draco groaned. "No magic. Hurts."

"You're lucky I'm here, then," Blaise said. He took out his own wand and cleaned him up from head to toe: he performed Cleaning Charms on Draco's stringy, unwashed hair and his pasty face, and Transfigured his bloody pajamas into a white shirt and charcoal trousers. "There. You look better already."

When Draco made no response, only sagged in his arms, Blaise shook him desperately. "Come on, stay with me, Malfoy."

Draco's eyes opened wide. He stood stiffly upright and stared off at something at the other end of the room. "Grandfather," he whispered. "I didn't -- how are..." Blaise looked and saw nothing.

He knew Snape had told him to bring Draco directly to the row house in Spinner's End. Snape would have potions or spells, or _something _that would help Draco, and Ginny, and they would be all right. Snape, being the intelligent bloke he was, would find something in one of his dusty books that would make everything right again, and Ginny and Draco would live happily ever after.

But that had been the plan when they had been working on the assumption that Draco was all right. He clearly wasn't. Not even close. The spells and potions might not even exist that would make Draco come back from the black precipice he balanced upon.

Blaise looked down at the face of his childhood friend, his brother, and took in the blue color of his lips, the vacancy in his eyes, his inability to stand on his own two feet. Draco's body jerked suddenly, violently, and he moaned in pain so deeply Blaise thought he could feel it too.

Draco never let others see how he felt. The very fact that he wasn't hiding his illness under layers of charms was enough to scare Blaise half to death.

So in that moment, Blaise made a split-second decision that he would never regret.

Instead of going to Snape, he Apparated them to the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry Potter was celebrating his engagement to Draco's wife.

* * *

The engagement party was set to begin at three, but by the time three rolled around the Leaky Cauldron was already nearly full to bursting. People milled everywhere, picking at the banquet tables set up around the room, covered with the Leaky's best. Everyone wanted their chance to give their congratulations too, and Ginny's face hurt from smiling so much. She saw several cousins that she hadn't seen in years -- even her mum's second cousin the accountant -- all of whom said they couldn't wait for the wedding, and told her she would be very happy. Baby pictures were passed around from friends who were starting their own families: she saw photos of Dean Thomas's daughters Mia and Rebecca, both decked out in West Ham colors; Neville's son Frank; Cho Chang's Marietta and Lewis; too many babies to count and even more. She saw others' engagement rings, rings of all shapes and sizes, and was assured a hundred times that the one Harry had given her was the prettiest by far.

_But what about the other?_ Ginny wanted to say. _What about this beautiful emerald one? Isn't it even prettier?_

It became too much to handle after an hour. The room closed in on her, people on all sides, eyes prying without seeing, and Ginny couldn't breathe. She couldn't be here anymore. Harry's arm around her was an oppressive weight, his presence an annoyance. Excusing herself, avoiding concerned looks, she ducked out of the main eating area and found herself alone in the kitchen.

Ginny pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and tried not to cry. She seemed to be doing a lot of that these days, mostly whenever Harry touched her and made her feel like her skin was being torn off. That was during the day, but it was a different ache at night, when she was alone in bed, longing for Draco's warm presence beside her. Every minute of every hour, every hour of every day, belonged to him and him only.

Her despairing thoughts were cut off when the door opened and shut. Ginny turned and saw Hermione standing behind her, arms folded in front of her chest.

"Mione," she said, trying to smile. "It's getting a bit warm in there, isn't it?"

"How could you?" Hermione whispered, frowning. "How could you do this to us, Ginny?"

Ginnny swallowed. "Do what? What are you talking about?"

"Oh don't play dumb," she snapped. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and her brown eyes were darkened in anger. "I know about you and Malfoy, Ginny. I've known for weeks."

Ginny felt the blood rush away from her face. "But -- how?"

"After you ran out on us, that night I thought you were pregnant," Hermione said, advancing a few steps. Ginny backed away. "I realized after you left that your symptoms were also shown by people suffering under blood feuds. And everyone knows about the Weasley-Malfoy feud, so I reasoned you must have come into prolonged contact with a Malfoy to be feeling so."

Ginny couldn't think of any realistic way to prove her wrong. She only stared and waited for her to continue.

"And you were missing all of the time too," Hermione went on, shaking her head. "Did you know I went to your flat one afternoon, to borrow that cookbook your mum gave you, and I heard a man's voice through the door? And it certainly wasn't _Harry's_," she bit off nastily.

"Hermione," Ginny whispered, "I can explain --"

"I hope so!" Hermione shrieked, her face red. "He attacked Ron, Ginny. He almost killed him. Your own brother, and still you disappeared for nearly a whole day! You were with _him_, weren't you, even after he nearly killed my husband!"

"He's not the evil Death Eater you think he is, Mione," Ginny cried. Hermione advanced again, and again Ginny retreated. "The world isn't so black and white as all that."

"He has the Dark Mark," she said. "He declared his allegiance to Voldemort."

"He was sixteen! He was a confused little boy that didn't know any better!"

"Merlin, you're actually defending him," Hermione gasped, eyes wide. "He's got you under some kind of spell -- or the Imperius --"

"I _love_ him," Ginny said, almost in tears. Hermione stopped her forward motion. "Mione, I'm in love with him, and he loves me."

Her words had struck the older girl dumb. Hermione blinked, before finally finding words to speak. "A Slytherin, Ginny?" she said. "How could you?"

"I love him," she whispered again, shaking her head. "I love him."

"But -- but you can't!" Hermione said, covering her mouth with her hand. "You're going to marry Harry, and have a family --"

"I'm already married to Draco," she said. "We got married the night before the debate."

"And you were going to string Harry along and let him think that you cared for him, that you were going to marry him?" Hermione's disapproval was palpable, as thick in the air as an autumn fog. "Merlin, Ginny. You've really made a mess of things, haven't you? Married to a criminal, engaged to Harry Potter --"

"Shut up!" Ginny sobbed, wiping at her eyes. "Get away from me!"

"No," Hermione said, and she reached out and grabbed Ginny's arm. "You're going to go out there and tell him. Harry is my best friend in the world, Ginny, and I'm not going to stand by and let you destroy him. You're going to tell him that you love him and you're going to marry him --"

"What?" Ginny tried to pull away from her, but her grip was like a shackle.

"Harry loves you, Ginny," she said, a hint of the kind Hermione Ginny knew coming back, the one she had first told about her hopeless crush on the Boy Who Lived. "He loves you so much. And Malfoy? Malfoy isn't marriage material, Ginny. He'll fool around with you for a few months and then leave you for the next best thing. He's been doing it for years, why would he change now?"

"You're wrong," Ginny hissed, coming close to Hermione's face. She looked her right in the eye. "I know he loves me. He would never leave me, he promised."

"Then he's --" Hermione was cut off by the sound of a commotion coming from the main room. Ginny heard a man's voice calling and rushed out of the kitchen, hoping against hope that Draco had come for her.

"Ginny! Ginny, where are you?"

The music that had been playing under the party conversations had cut off. There were many people standing in her way, and Ginny had to fight her way through. She noticed that those on the other side were giving the unexpected guest dark, unfriendly looks.

"This is a private party, Mr. Zabini," said Arthur, stepping forward. His expression was not unkind, but nor was it welcoming. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"I need Ginny," Blaise said loudly, and Ginny finally managed to push her way through the crowd, her heart rising in expectation.

"Blaise, what --" The words died unborn on her lips as she finally looked at him. He wasn't alone. Draco was draped awkwardly over his shoulders, arms and legs hanging limply, head bent. Blaise had a fiercely protective look in his eyes, and she knew in an instant that this was serious. A strangled cry escaped her lips. She couldn't move, only stare.

"What's going on, Gin?" Harry said, frowning.

"Ginny," Blaise said when he saw her. "Help me lay him down."

She sprang into action. Ginny swept all of the food off of the nearest banquet table, and it tumbled to the floor in a messy heap. She reached for Draco's legs and picked them up, and then helped Blaise to stretch him across the table.

"Draco," she said. She climbed onto the table to join him, pillowing his head in her lap. His face was hardly visible for the tears in her eyes. "Draco, wake up." She brushed his hair back from his forehead, and didn't notice Blaise rushing out of the Leaky Cauldron at a breakneck pace.

His lashes fluttered, barely, but he eventually looked up into her eyes. Ginny felt a sob rise in her throat. How had he gotten like this, in just over a week? He had been fine the last time she had seen him, hadn't he? Now he was so thin, so thin, and his skin so pale, and his beautiful eyes so lightless...

"Ginny," he whispered. One of his hands shifted, and she reached for it and wove her fingers through his, squeezing tightly.

"I'm here, Draco," she said, smiling through her tears.

She felt rather than saw Molly and Arthur come up behind her. "Ginny, what's going on?" Arthur said. "Is that Draco Malfoy?"

"I think it is," said Dean Thomas, glaring at his prostrate figure. "Someone call for the Aurors."

"There's no need for that," Luna said calmly, stepping out of the crowd. She placed herself between Draco and Ginny and the rest of the partygoers. "No one will call the Aurors."

"Luna, what are you doing?" George demanded.

"I'm dreaming," Draco said, seemingly unaware of the scene that played out around them.

"No, it's me," Ginny said. She bent and pressed a frantic kiss to his lips. "I'm here. We're together again."

"I dreamed -- of you," he said. "Many times."

"This is all real," she said, cradling his head in her arms with her cheek pressed against his forehead. "I'm sure I put any dream version of me to shame, don't I?"

"You -- needed me," he said, and his grip on her hand tightened as his body lurched in pain. "Do you need me -- Gin?"

"I always will," she said, her lower lip trembling. "You know that."

"Ginny?" Harry cried. The whites of his eyes showed all around. "What the bloody_ hell _is going on?"

Another disturbance from outside. Everyone save Ginny turned to see Blaise reenter the Leaky Cauldron, this time with Narcissa Malfoy and Snape in tow. Narcissa went right to Draco's side, taking his other hand between both of her own. "Darling," she breathed, exuding comfort and peace and love. "Mummy's here, darling."

Draco's eyes had been drifting shut, but they leapt open again at the sound of her voice. "Mum," he said, "Mum, it hurts." His back arched off the table and he twisted in agony, a low moan leaving his lips. The sound cut through Ginny like a sabre.

"I know it does, darling." Narcissa stroked his cheek with the back of her hand, gently, gently. "It'll be all right."

"Draco." It was Snape, standing beside Narcissa, his face as cold and impassive as ever. "I think I can help you. Are you wearing your ring?"

Draco seemed unable to comprehend what he was saying for a moment, before he moved the hand still entwined with Ginny's. His silver wedding band glinted in the soft light.

"Good," Snape said. "If I annul your marriage, I have reason to believe the blood feud will stop advancing. It'll buy us some time."

Ginny raised her gaze to him. "It will?"

"Wait a moment," Molly Weasley cried, holding up her hand. She stared at Snape, utterly gobsmacked. "Are you saying that these two -- Ginny and Malfoy -- they're _married_?"

"The short answer is yes," Snape said abruptly, causing a collective gasp around the room.

"No," Draco managed, and all of their heads swiveled back to him.

"No what?" Ginny said.

"No -- annulment," he said. He looked right at her.

"What?" she said, breath catching. "But Draco --"

"Rather be married and -- sick -- than not -- and without you." Weakly, he pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it.

"Darling, be reasonable," Narcissa said, looking between the two of them. "Miss Weasley -- your wife -- she knows you love her, doesn't she? You don't need a wedding ring to tell her that."

"Yes I do," Draco said stubbornly, jerking again as pain shot through his body. He shifted his legs, shifted them again, looked up at Ginny. "Love you."

"You stubborn git," Ginny wailed, and unmindful of the people around them -- her parents, his mother, Harry -- she kissed his lips, pleading, desperate. He squeezed her hand again, tighter than ever.

Narcissa turned to Snape, looking up at him with a calmness that belied her grief. "Convince him, Severus," she implored. "He's ill, he doesn't know what he's saying --"

"I cannot annul the marriage unless both parties give their consent," Snape told her.

Ginny looked up again, defiantly. "I don't give my consent either."

"Then you are less intelligent than I thought, Mrs. Malfoy," he said coolly.

"Proving -- a point?" Draco said to her. His cyanotic lips quirked in what might have once been a smile.

"I love you," Ginny whispered. A tear rolled down her nose, and dripped onto his cheek. "I only have that to prove."

She saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, and he gave her a look full of unspoken emotion, desires he never would have voiced in front of an audience. With painstaking slowness, he raised his shaking hand again, and stroked the side of her face. Ginny sobbed and turned to kiss his fingers.

"Mum."

Narcissa rubbed his other hand. "I'm here, darling."

"Everything -- goes to you."

For the first time, the blonde woman's eyes shone with tears, which she blinked hastily back. "I accept, darling."

"All yours," he muttered. He winced and closed his eyes, and three spasms, in quick succession, hit him, one after the other. "Mummy?" he whimpered.

"Anything you want, my darling boy," Narcissa said.

"Love you."

Narcissa inhaled sharply, a look of fear passing over her previously serene features. "Always," she whispered. She bent and kissed his forehead then backed away.

"Gin," he said next, as his body jerked again. He cried out, neck arching back.

"I love you," she said, tears flowing freely down her face. "I love you."

"Kiss me," he said faintly.

She bent and pressed her lips to his, whispering heartfelt adulations against his skin, and her tears slid between them so he tasted like salt. His lips puckered as he attempted to kiss her back, once, twice.

And for a moment, she could believe everything would be all right. Snape would cure him, and Draco would be with her until they were old and gray and couldn't move very well. Alex and Narcissa and Marius would not be dreams but real, and they would live in a world filled with love and happiness, for always.

Ginny felt his body relax. She moved away. Draco's eyes had closed. There was a look of peace on his face, such utter calm; he was an angel, pale and blond and perfect. She had never seen him look as beautiful as he did then, so unearthly, ethereal. "Draco," she breathed. She squeezed his hand. "Wake up."

Narcissa pressed two fingers to the inside of his wrist. After a moment, she lay his hand down on the table and Snape was there, and she was in his arms.

"Draco." Ginny rocked him, hoping to stir him again. Draco's head fell limply into her side. He looked fast asleep, as though his eyes would blink open in another moment. "Come on, wake up."

Blaise appeared at her side, his hand warm on her shoulder. "Ginny," he said thickly. She looked up and there were twin streams sliding from his eyes, down his dark face. "He's..."

"No," she insisted, though innately she knew. She knew. "Not yet, I'm not ready," she cried, her voice breaking.

"Ginny." Snape had never called her by her first name before. He gazed at her over the top of Narcissa's head, his eyes dry but haunted. "It won't do any good."

They were wrong. She'd prove them wrong. He was simply unconscious, the way he had been when Blaise first brought him in. Ginny moved him, still cradling his lax body, and pressed her ear over where his heart beat.

Nothing. Silent as a tomb.

Her mouth opened wide as her entire body seized, realization bringing horrifying, unrelenting grief. She shut her eyes tightly, and opened them again, and Draco was still lying there, not responding, not breathing.

"Draco!" she howled. "Draco, _no_!"

"Ginny." Blaise tried to pull her away but she only clung more.

"Dear Merlin," Arthur said in a hushed tone, looking at Molly. "Is -- is he dead?"

"No!" Ginny screamed, shaking Draco. His hand, previously entwined with hers, slipped away and fell on his motionless chest. "You promised me, Draco! You promised!"

"You're becoming hysterical, Ginny," Snape said evenly, releasing Narcissa.

"I'm not! Bring him back, Professor!" she cried. "Bring him back!" Breathless sobs shook her entire body, built up and stuck in her throat, until she choked on them. "I can't -- I can't --"

"Do something!" Molly shrieked. "She can't catch her breath!"

Snape pulled out his wand and advanced on her. "You must be calm, Ginny," he said quietly.

"But how can I be?" She could hardly see him, anything, only Draco; could feel Draco's heavy weight across her lap. "He's dead, Professor! He's _gone_! Draco!"

She didn't notice when he started muttering spells under his breath, only knew that a mournful serenity fell over her, light as a veil, and her sobs ceased. She was incapable of crying any longer, but as she stroked Draco's face, pushed back his long hair, felt his skin go cold, Ginny realized that the feeling of total, complete loss had not faded. Not at all. She was empty, shattered, utterly broken -- and there was not a soul in the whole world that knew how to mend her.

"I love you so much," she whispered. Another of her tears fell on Draco's placid face. She kissed it away and buried her face in his neck.

The front room at the Leaky Cauldron was perfectly immobile, frozen with shock, confusion, pity.

No one said a word. No one knew what to say.


	16. Timeless End

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not mine.

**Chapter Fifteen - Timeless End**

"_The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head..."_

She is standing at the edge of a mirror-flat lake, so pure and clear she imagines she can see to the bottom, where there swim magnificent sea creatures of a hundred colors. Mountains rise above her like jagged teeth, dusted with snow. The air is warm like the sun, and the sun is bright between the clouds, which glide over the lake and catch on the mountain peaks. She has never been to Geneva, but she knows that is where she is.

Beneath her feet the sand is damp from the receding tide, seeping between her toes and giving under her welcome weight. She walks along the water, without direction. She turns and behind her there is nothing, nobody, not even a seagull crying his summer requiem, or a glade of cattails whispering obsequies. Could she be alone in this wondrous place, when she has always wanted to share it with someone else? She sighs, and for a moment -- a moment that flutters away from her lips soft like a secret -- it is the saddest sound in the world.

But when she turns, and has to push her hair from her eyes in the strong wind, there is a figure approaching. Her heart rises for some reason she cannot quite remember, and her feet sink into the sand but she is running, running, picking up the flowing skirt of her gown so as not to trip. She knows there is something ahead of her that she wants, desires, cannot live without, but she also knows she is dreaming, or perhaps not? The sand is too real, too grainy, and she has no memory of Geneva. She is here. She must be.

He is not far away now, no more than a hundred paces, but he still looks indistinct, shimmery as a mirage, and she runs faster. Does the sun shine off of his pale blond hair or merely the sand beyond him? Is that truly the malleable grayness of his eyes, or a silver mineral in the mountains around them? She screams some name, it sounds like his, and it is ripped out of her mouth with fork tines and swept away. Is he moving towards her, or away, or at all? Her heart is full and spills over. She shouts his name again.

Now he moves, but slowly like he is swimming, or floating. She is closer to him, but he is farther from her, and she cannot reach him. Echoes, echoes of echoes, come back to her and she sobs as she thinks she might have heard his voice once before, when he whispered to her so sweetly about things like love and eternity. He knows her name. He calls her name and it is music in the wind.

Is that white she sees? Perhaps he wears a white shirt, but then again whenever she thinks of him he is wearing white. She sees the folds in his sleeves, smile lines on his face, and now maybe he is not so far away after all. She calls his name a third time, to be sure, and he makes some sound like an entreaty, a question. Her name is in the air between them, followed by -- their name. Their name. Are they one still? Had they told the truth when they said they would never be torn asunder?

He is before her, so close, within her reach, and she imagines she can feel his rough hands, the light stubble on his face, and see the love shining out of his eyes like a lighthouse beacon, but then he is gone, gone, nowhere to be found and maybe he was never there at all. She spins all around looking, and still she hears his voice, asking, asking. She runs farther down the beach, calling for him, and her heart is empty. Maybe he was never there at all.

She wakes screaming his name, pleading his name, begging his name, and her throat is raw and red. The room is dark like night and blurry, like him, like him, but because of her tears and not the cruel veil that stands in her way. Her arms stretch out before her, milky white in the moonglow, straining towards him, longing for his embrace, but the only one who comes to relieve her of her lamentation is her mother, and her kind of comfort is a gentle touch and bottled peace.

She sleeps. He comes again. She begins to dread her unconscious hours.

* * *

Luna told them everything. About the nomination ball, where Draco and Ginny had only had eyes for each other; the secret assignations, at her modest flat and his upscale set; the desperate proposal; the midnight marriage. It hadn't been a plot to get back at anyone, or a means of manipulating one of their families -- it had simply been two people, completely in love. At the story's end, where Draco lay expired in Ginny's arms on a banquet table in a pub, it all sounded like something out of a sensational romance novel, only in this case, there was no closing the back cover and returning to real life.

The Weasleys, plus Harry, sat in astonished silence in the Burrow's living room once Luna was done, while upstairs in her bedroom Ginny wavered between fitful half-sleep and blind hysteria. Fleur had tears streaming down her face, as did Penelope. George couldn't look at Luna, who stared down into her lap while she spoke.

"I'm not sorry for helping them," she said, twisting the friendship ring George had given her. "He made Ginny happy."

"Yeah, and now he's made her miserable," Ron said, but it was without fire. He seemed to notice it himself, for he looked around at the rest of his family. "Isn't that...odd?"

"Isn't what odd?" Percy said.

"I mean...I've hated Malfoy all my life," Ron said, frowning. "He was a rotten bugger -- sorry, Mum -- he was horrible to us at Hogwarts and after the War, and I was -- I was _livid_ when I saw him last night. Made me sick to even see him. And now..." He shrugged.

"I don't hate him anymore," Fred said curiously. "I don't even remember what it felt like to hate him."

"That's because the Malfoy debt has been paid," Hermione said softly. Everyone turned to look at her. "I've -- I've been researching blood feuds for a few weeks now," she went on. "When this one was created, evidently the Weasleys wanted the life of a Malfoy in payment. It's been done. He -- Draco gave his life and it's done."

"That's it, then?" Bill said, his hand threaded through Fleur's. "The blood feud is resolved?"

"I -- think so," she said uncertainly.

"Then why is Ginny so..." George gestured upwards with his hand, just as screams came from above: she was shouting Malfoy's name again. She must have been dreaming of him in her sleep, for it was all she did while awake; she called for a man who would not come to her any longer. Molly jumped to her feet and took up the Draught of Peace she'd been giving her all day, and ran upstairs.

"She's handling her grief very badly," Hermione said. "I mean, if Luna is to be believed --"

"Ginny's just lost the man who meant everything to her," Luna said, eyes flashing angrily. "How would you be if you lost Ron?"

"And what about Harry, eh?" Ron shot back, glaring at her. "What about him? He's been nothing but there for Ginny for years. Then, what, Malfoy just sweeps in in a few months and leaves my baby sister like _that_?" He pointed up the stairs. Ginny had stopped screaming.

"You can't choose who you love," Luna said plainly.

"Well said," Fleur murmured, patting Bill's hand.

"But still," Ron went on, his voice becoming stronger as he went on. He was still pale beneath his long coppery fringe, but he had come a long way from the debate. "A Malfoy! She had an affair with a Malfoy and she _married_ him and didn't tell us a thing!"

"What upsets you more," Luna said coldly, "that he was a Malfoy or that she hid something from all of you?"

Nobody answered her at first, and then everybody was talking at once.

Harry was strangely quiet throughout their discussion, sitting on the windowseat that looked out over the snow-covered fields behind the Burrow. He had hardly spoken a word since the evening before, since they had watched somber wizards in dark gray robes come in and take away Malfoy's emaciated body on a stretcher; since Arthur had scooped up a despondent Ginny like a little girl in his arms and carried her to her childhood bedroom.

"We're a family," Charlie was saying. "We don't hide anything from each other."

"Though I can see why she would want to hide involvement with a Malfoy," Percy said pointedly. "Mum and Dad were appalled when he came into the Leaky Cauldron last night."

George got up and left the room without saying a word. Luna followed him anxiously with her eyes until he had gone, and she bowed her head again. The conversation went on around her.

Angelina and Fred were giving each other unreadable looks, as though struggling to share something with the rest of the family. It wasn't until Molly returned from tending to Ginny, her eyes rimmed in red, that Angelina asked for everyone's attention.

"I know this probably isn't the best time," she said, taking Fred's hand, "what with everything going on and all the strange things happening, but -- Fred and I have an announcement that will hopefully cheer everyone up a bit." A smile betrayed her as she glanced at Fred and then everyone else. "We're pregnant."

Molly really began crying at that, and so did Angelina and all of the women. Fleur was bawling, her face buried in Bill's shoulder. No one said the words out loud, but there were there as though written in the air, and they wept -- for the baby, and for Ginny.

Luna could only watch and feel left out, somehow, left out of the tight, protective dome of love that surrounded this amazing family.

* * *

Blaise Zabini appeared on their doorstep two days later, while Ginny was still locked up in her room and the Weasleys were still not sure what to make of everything that had come to pass. Arthur answered the door when the firm knock came, while everyone had gone home for the day, and uttered a little "oh!" of surprise when he saw who it was.

"Mr. Weasley," Blaise said smoothly, offering his hand to shake. Arthur took it, still confused. "I'm Blaise Zabini, as you know. I was a friend of Draco Malfoy's."

"Er, ah, yes, why don't you come in?" Arthur stepped aside and let Blaise into the warm kitchen and out of the cold. Blaise nodded his thanks and brushed a few errant snowflakes from the shoulders of his winter cloak.

Once Arthur had offered him some hot tea and a seat by the fire in their cozy parlor, Blaise got down to business. "I'd like to speak to Ginny, if I may, sir," he began.

"So would I," Arthur said sadly, blowing on his tea. "She hasn't been out of her room since... since it all happened."

Blaise nodded. "I ask because Narcissa Malfoy would like for her -- and the rest of you, if you wish -- to come to Draco's funeral on Thursday, in Wiltshire."

Arthur still had a difficult time getting his head around that. His daughter, his little girl Ginny, grown up and married to the son of the man he had despised from birth and before. A Malfoy wife. A Malfoy widow. Merlin, how his world stood on end these days. "I don't know if she'll be up to it," he said honestly. "When she's not asleep, she's crying and calling out for him. She's taken it none too well."

"Perhaps she will see me," Blaise said.

"You think so?"

Blaise nodded again. "I witnessed their wedding," he said. "I'm a part of her life with him." When Arthur only looked down into the ruddy depths of his tea, he added, "I won't go up unless I have your permission, but please, Mr. Weasley. For her health and welfare."

"It's entirely up to her," Arthur said, sighing, after a long time's consideration.

"I won't force her to do anything."

"Molly won't be thrilled, but I'll handle her," Arthur said. He set down his teacup. "I'll take you to her room."

They both stood, slowly, as though they had aged years instead of minutes, and made their way up the crooked, uneven staircase that led upstairs. The Burrow was quieter than it ever had been, what with all of his sons at their own homes and Molly in Diagon Alley buying food and more Draughts of Peace. They came at last to a room near the top of the house, and they could almost feel the despair oozing through the crack under the door. Nothing moved within.

"I'll be in the kitchen if you need me," Arthur said, and he headed back downstairs.

* * *

Ginny was dead inside, porous and mismatched and half-there. She had fought against the vicious cycle that had been her dreaming of him, dreaming of being with him again, only to have him snatched away and her awake calling for him -- now she did nothing, only sat by her window and looked out at the snowy expanse below her, wrapped in a faded old quilt. She was without thoughts, motivation, emotion. She was dead.

Her bedroom door creaked open and she didn't even turn to see who it was. It wasn't until he had crossed the room -- for she knew it was a he by the weight of his footsteps -- and knelt beside her that she realized it wasn't one of her brothers or her father, or Harry. Ginny turned and saw Blaise instead.

He gave her a sad, lopsided smile and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Hello, love," he said quietly. "How are you holding up?"

"He's trying to speak to me," Ginny said. A fresh tear dripped from her eye; she didn't wipe it away. "I know that's what it must be. I keep dreaming of him, Blaise, and we reach for each other but he fades away and he's gone." A sob bubbled up in her throat. "He's gone, Blaise, he's really gone." When the tears started again, he sat beside her and drew her into his arms and they drifted in their own private misery.

"Come to the funeral," Blaise said.

Ginny laughed bitterly. "You're joking, right?"

"Narcissa specifically asked for you to come. From her lips to my ears, Gin."

"It won't be a funeral." Even saying the word made her voice quaver, and she trembled in Blaise's arms. "It'll be a media circus. Everyone will want a final look at the last scion of one of the oldest wizard families in Britain, and they'll want to see his secret wife. I couldn't deal with that."

Blaise snorted. "Mourning is a team sport, Ginny," he said dryly. "You're not the only one who lost someone you love, you know. I lost my best friend. Narcissa lost her only child. Snape lost his godson. We'll all be there, and all of the people that went to school with us, together." She said nothing; he went on. "He'll be buried in the family plot on their lands in Wiltshire. Malfoy Manor is one of the most heavily protected places in Britain, outside Hogwarts, the Ministry, and St. Mungo's. I don't think a soul will get in that isn't supposed to be there."

Ginny bit her lip and looked down at her left hand. Her rings were visible now, minus Harry's diamond, and the emerald threw green sparkles onto her face when it caught the light just so. "He would want me to be there," she whispered.

"He would," Blaise agreed. "Draco was a git at times, but he was always a gentleman."

"He was, wasn't he?" Ginny looked up at him, eyes swimming. "What do I have to do, Blaise? At the funeral?"

"Nothing special," he assured her. "Just be there with Narcissa. You'll be the chief mourners. She's already made the proper arrangements and everything."

"Then I'll be there," Ginny said, with more confidence than she felt. "He would have wanted it."

"I'll go and tell Narcissa to expect you, then," he said, standing. "And Ginny..."

She looked up expectantly.

"If you ever need me," he said sincerely, "for anything at all, don't hesitate to ask. Draco would have wanted me to say that as well."

Ginny gave him a tightlipped smile and nodded. He smiled grimly back, and left her, shutting the door gently behind him.

* * *

Harry came to see her on Wednesday, while she stood out in the fields where she had played Quidditch with her brothers, where Bill and Fleur had been married. She was knee-deep in snow, which melted and soaked the bottom of her cloak, but she couldn't feel it. She didn't feel anything until Harry was standing right beside her.

The two of them were silent a long time, merely staring out at the barren countryside. Grayness everywhere: the snow was old and melting, not the fine white stuff that fell like baby powder. The sky was the color of slate. Only the Burrow, leaning at a precarious angle, looked warm and inviting, with its glowing windows and cheery smoke trail trickling out of the chimney.

"Were you ever going to tell me about him?" Harry asked softly.

"Eventually," she whispered. "I was afraid to."

"Afraid?"

She tilted her head back, and all she saw was gray like his eyes. "I remembered just the other day," she said. "You used Sectumsempra on him at Hogwarts. That's how he learned it. You almost killed him when you were only sixteen."

"And you thought...Merlin, Gin." Harry ran a hand through his messy hair. "Well, I'm not going to stand here and deny that I would've been angry."

"I never meant to hurt you, Harry." She turned her head and looked at him. He was still staring at the snow underfoot. "I do love you, no matter what you might think."

He snorted. "You love me?" Harry gazed out at the trees around them, black and bare like wires. "Ginny...you cheated on me and married another bloke while we were still dating. Wouldn't it have been easier to just dump me? Maybe that way I wouldn't have had to see you kiss Malfoy days after I asked you to marry me." He laughed shortly, and his breath was a marshmallow puff of air. "Fucked up, that is. Worse than what they print in _News of the World_."

"Harry --"

"You know what I thought at first, when I saw Zabini bring him into the Leaky that night?" he said. "I thought he'd turned on his own mate and was bringing him to be taken in by the Aurors. I was -- glad. Thrilled, even. I wanted to see him behind bars at Azkaban. Then you rushed towards him, and the look in your eyes..." He broke off with a strangled sound. She didn't look at him. "You were so gentle with him, Ginny. And I wanted to die when I saw how you cradled him in your arms."

The tears, as close as they were to the surface these days, filled her eyes. "I didn't want everyone to find out about us that way," she said. "We would've told Mum and Dad first, and his mum. Snape would've found a way to counteract the blood feud."

Harry sighed. "But nothing ever does work out quite the way we want it to, does it?" he whispered.

She shook her head. "Never."

"And somehow, I'm not mad at you," he said. Finally he turned his brilliant green eyes on her, and they broke Ginny's heart. "I can't be mad at you, Gin. Believe me, I tried many times over the past few days, and it's just...impossible."

Ginny wiped at a tear sliding down her cheek. "I love him," she said.

"Just tell me one thing -- was it something I did or said? Did I ever make you feel --"

"No." She shook her head emphatically and took his hand in hers. "It wasn't anything to do with you. You're wonderful, Harry, I've always known you were, and someday you're going to make some witch so happy --"

His head bowed at that, too quickly. "It was me," she went on. "I fell out of love with you a long time ago, and I was simply too scared to tell anyone."

"I love you, Ginny," he said, raising his eyes again, and she could tell he spoke from the bottom of his heart. "I think I always will."

She smiled sadly. "I love you too, Harry."

"I would have done everything I could to make you happy."

"I know," she said, and she stepped into him and drew him close. His arms were solid, comforting, but not enough. "I never doubted how you felt."

"But...with Malfoy --" Harry pulled away.

Ginny's lip trembled and she turned from him. "If my love for you is a teardrop," she whispered, "then my love for Draco is an entire ocean. He's..."

"Everything," Harry said meaningfully.

Ginny nodded. "My whole world."

"I know what you mean." Harry shoved his hands in his pockets. They stood in contemplative silence.

"We should get indoors," Ginny said at last.

"Yeah." Harry reached out and took her hand again, and his was warm on hers as they headed back for the Burrow. "You know -- I don't want you to feel like you have to avoid me or anything. I'm here for you."

"Thank you, Harry," she said.

"I mean," he went on, and his eyes started to shine too brightly despite the smile on his face, "I reckon we've got a shared experience now. We've both lost the one true love of our lives. That's sure to start up some interesting conversations, isn't it?"

Ginny choked on her laughter, chased as it was by sobs.

* * *

Thursday dawned cold and clear, with the sky a flat ivory color and not a breath of wind in the air. Though her brothers and their wives had politely declined Narcissa's invitation to Draco's funeral ("I may not hate him anymore," Ron had said, "but he's not suddenly my best mate"), Luna, Arthur, and Molly accompanied Ginny to the Malfoy family's ancestral lands in Wiltshire, and trod on ground that had not seen a Weasley in nearly a thousand years. The trees here were upright evergreens, standing tall where they dotted the landscape like sentinels. The encroaching forest showed no signs of life.

Blaise had not exaggerated when he said the place was heavily protected. As they walked up the winding drive that led to the front entrance to the massive manor, Ginny could feel the magic in the air like a tangible thing, throbbing and pulsing all around her. The wards were similar to the ones Bill had placed on her flat, but far stronger, far more complex. No one would dare try to sneak into this place. She felt around the magic again and realized: he was in it. She could feel him here, more strongly than anywhere else she had been, so close by she felt as though he were just behind her.

Narcissa herself met them at the front door when the elves let them in. Her pale skin and hair looked nearly white beside her elegant ink-black robes, and she greeted them quietly, in a carefully modulated voice.

"Thank you for coming," she half-murmured, looking only at Ginny. "I'm so pleased you could come." Ginny only reached for her hand and squeezed it. Narcissa wavered, and for a moment she looked about to break, but then her mask was back in place. She showed them to the parlor, where already a few dozen people milled. Silence fell when they saw the Weasleys. Narcissa told them that the ceremony would begin in a few minutes, then excused herself to greet more guests.

Ignoring the blatantly curious stares coming her way, Ginny studied the room they were in. She had never been to Malfoy Manor before, so she drank in hungrily every detail of the place; she could see her parents doing the same. The carpeting under their feet was rich and soft, a deep shade of Slytherin green, and the furniture was polished to a high sheen. Numerous old portraits hung on the wall, framed in what were likely real gold-plated frames. Ginny's eyes skimmed along them, noticing that all the occupants of the frames were respectfully dressed in black. _To think_, she said to herself_, if things had been different, we would have lived here together. I would have called this place home._

"Hello, love." Ginny turned and Blaise had come up behind her, with Daphne on his arm. Daphne had a handkerchief clutched in one hand, and her eyes were red-rimmed. Ginny smiled at them both, and hugged Blaise when he opened his arms to her. "I hoped you would come."

"I would have regretted it if I hadn't," she said.

The mourners were led by a house elf out to a massive room of glass at the back of the mansion a few minutes later, just as Narcissa had promised. Ginny let out a soft cry when she saw the black casket at the center of the floor, laying on a platform, with sprays of blood-red roses scattered over it. Thankfully, it was closed. She did not want to think about how she would have felt had the casket been open, enabling her to see his beautiful face, his graceful hands.

Narcissa was the last to enter the glass room, and she fell into place beside Ginny, her chin tilted up and her eyes dry. An old man dressed in Ministry robes, carrying a tome that looked ancient and falling apart, moved to the center of the room and began the service. Ginny barely heard a word of it. The Ministry wizard went through his obligatory readings and reflections on life and death, and allowed a few younger wizards to eulogize -- Narcissa said they were second cousins, and would inherit the entirety of the Malfoy estate once she died. Ginny only nodded at this information, trying to concentrate on anything except the ebony coffin before her and why she was standing so near to it.

It was no use.

_Cinnamon. Pomegranates. Burnt toast_.

She'd catch him sometimes, when he wasn't paying attention, and she'd hear him singing under his breath while he leafed through the morning _Prophet_. He would always deny it later, because he was a Malfoy, and Malfoys certainly didn't sing. He was adorable when petulant.

_You look beautiful._

For a week -- only one -- she had worried that all they felt was lust. Her fears had been erased in an instant when, on one of the rare mornings he had been able to stay, he had looked up at her, wearing his discarded shirt and her hair a tousled mess, and out of the blue told her she was beautiful. The challenging look on his face as he said it had made her laugh out loud.

_I love you, Ginny._

They hadn't had enough time. All those years they had known each other, only to have them end just when things were getting good. Merlin, why hadn't they met earlier, at some other party or event, or in Hogwarts? How could two and a half months be enough? How?

"Rain clouds, oh they used to chase me," she sang softly, too softly for anyone to hear. A tear rolled down her cheek. "Down they would pour..."

Ginny was brought back to reality when she realized Narcissa was gently tugging on the hem of her long black sleeves. The ceremony had ended, and now they were going out to the graveyard. Their wands drawn, six of the second cousins levitated the coffin off of its platform, and, led by the Ministry wizard, they made their way out into the wintry world outside. The rest of the mourners followed after.

"Malfoys have been buried here for generations," Narcissa said as they walked, and the snow crunched under their feet. "It's actually fairly far from the manor, but I've adjusted some of the wards so the walk won't be long at all."

"Lucius is buried there," Ginny said.

"Yes, he is." Narcissa's tone gave away nothing, not a flicker of emotion. "I'll be buried there one day. You will, too."

She wondered idly if the grave had already been dug into the cold, hard ground, if the headstone had been erected. The image was clear in her mind: the snow pushed away into white mounds, a gaping emptiness in the dirt before her. Maybe her parents and Luna and Narcissa wouldn't stop her. Maybe she would jump in after him, and let the dirt cover her and they would be together again.

All the snow had been cleared out of the graveyard, and lay piled like walls on three sides. It was filled with elaborate statues, ancient crypts, towering monuments in tribute to Ozymandian greatness that seemed false in the bare winter sunlight. They followed the cousins, who followed the Ministry wizard, past tombstones and placards that had been worn nearly smooth with time, to more recent ones: _Julius Andronicus Malfoy_, one read, and beside him his wife _Beatrice Derrick Malfoy_. And somewhere in the middle Ginny started recognizing the names: there lay _Julius Abraxus_, and his wife, her name obliterated by a stray wisp of snow, and then Julius Lucius, whose marble gravestone still glinted as though brand new.

The stone they stopped before, the one everyone spread out to circle, was gray granite like his eyes, Merlin just like his eyes, and one full space away from his father's. The cousins lowered their wands as one, and the coffin hovered directly above the rectangular gap. Luna took Ginny's hand and squeezed it tightly, and Ginny knew she couldn't jump.

"We commit this wizard to the ground from whence he came," the Ministry wizard intoned solemnly, "for as we are born of our mothers in the beginning, so we return to our great mother's embrace in the end, and rest our heads on her bosom in our eternal slumber."

_Julius Draconis Malfoy_, his stone read in angled letters. _1980-2004_. It didn't sound like the same person. There was something else below it, but Ginny was too far away to read it.

"Every moment we live we are dying," said the Ministry wizard, "and every moment we live brings us closer to the end. For the end is just as much a part of life as the beginning, and the cycle begins anew. It has in the past, and does in the present, and will in the future, world without end." The cousins lowered their wands again, and the black coffin, with its roses, sank into the ground and out of sight. "Julius Draconis Malfoy," the Ministry wizard said. "May God have mercy on your soul."

The world tilted in silent expectation then, as the assembled gazed down into the gaping hole that was his bed. There were no birds, no sounds of life around them -- it was as though the whole world had followed Persephone into the underworld, and nothing was left to mourn him save these few people, who might have loved him. They might have known the sound of his rare laugh, or his dry humor, or his quick temper, but Ginny doubted it. He deserved far more than this.

She paid no heed as the Ministry wizard announced that there would be a light meal being served at the manor, in the ballroom. One by one, or in pairs, the cousins and distant relatives that didn't know the name of his favorite band turned from the grave and headed back to the food, to the party. Only Ginny and Narcissa stayed, with Luna and Arthur and Molly a few paces behind, and they watched the Ministry wizard fill the grave with black dirt and smooth it over. He bowed to Narcissa once he had done; Narcissa nodded back. He left them to their private grief.

Ginny stepped closer, wanting to know what else had been carved into the granite. Luna released her hand and let her go, but Narcissa followed her. The words were unfamiliar, and yet she might have already known them:

"_He lies, as if in dewy sleep he lay;_

_Awake him not! surely he takes his fill_

_Of deep and liquid rest, forgetful of all ill._"

"It's beautiful," Ginny whispered.

When Narcissa did not answer, she turned to look at her. The older woman's eyes, so like her son's, had filled at last with hot, bitter tears, and all the good breeding in the world could not dampen them. "I've done something," Narcissa said softly. "I know I must have."

"Done what?" Ginny said.

"Something terrible, unspeakable, but I know not what." Her shoulders shook, and she pressed her fingers to her lips. "I have outlived my own child, Ginevra. I buried his father not six years past. No woman is strong enough to bear that, no woman should have to be. I am being punished."

"I'm sorry," Ginny said, and she clasped Narcissa's hand in hers. "I'm sorry."

"He must have loved you so," she said, smiling faintly, and Ginny started to cry. "He was always possessive as a child. What things he claimed as his, were his forever. I did not have it in me to deny him anything. He was the brightest star in my life."

"What am I supposed to do?" Ginny sobbed. "I don't know what --"

"As long as we remember the dead," Narcissa said, "they will never truly leave us. They are not gone for good, merely in another place. They will always be with us."

Ginny's head buzzed in protest, and she wanted to scream at her, at Luna and Molly and Arthur, that they were wrong. How could they find something positive in death? How could it be anything but an end, a horrible end, a vacancy in life that nothing else could fill?

How was she meant to live without him?

Ginny's limbs stiffened in pain, and at first she thought it was from the sharp December cold. She gasped through her tears, and clutched Narcissa's hands until she must have been hurting her, and the earth shifted under her feet. She cried out in anguish, her heart breaking, her limbs aching. Luna called to her, Molly shrieked her name in fear, Arthur cradled her in his arms when she collapsed to the ground.

She succumbed to the blackness that encroached, and knew nothing more.

* * *

Again. They were in hospital again.

The halls were decorated with Christmas lights and streamers this time, for the holidays were less than a week away, and the Healers hummed carols as they went from patient to patient. A choir of children sang in the lobby, and their voices carried all through the building, even up to the solemn corridor where the Weasleys gathered outside a lone ward, their backs bent in grief. No one walked through their part of the hospital bringing tidings of good cheer. No one dared approach the aura of sorrow that surrounded them, and darkened the very lights that illuminated the rest of the building.

Narcissa had paid for a private room -- she had paid for everything, though Molly and Arthur had at first refused. "I never had a daughter," Narcissa said. "Let me spoil my only one while I can." She stood with Snape and Blaise Zabini, the only outsiders, along one wall, and all thirteen Weasleys plus Luna and Harry stood along the other.

"I don't understand," Molly sobbed, her face puffy and red. "I thought the blood feud had done."

"No," Snape said hoarsely. He glanced at Narcissa before continuing. "The Weasley-Malfoy feud is -- was -- two-sided. Both families required payment of some kind, not just one."

"That's impossible," Hermione began.

"I assure you, it's not," Snape said. "The Weasley debt has not yet been paid."

"But all the blood feuds I looked into required active participation," Luna said abruptly. Everyone turned to look at her, save George. "The families have to choose to end them, they don't just end by themselves."

"I have a theory," Snape said slowly. Once he had everyone's attention, he went on. "You well know that no spell lasts forever. They need to be renewed periodically, else they will simply fade." They all nodded to show that they followed. "This blood feud, and the spell cast to create it, were nearly one thousand years old. The spell was fading."

"But then why didn't it just lose strength and end?" Luna said.

"It did," Snape said gravely. "It is. The feud is ending itself, and it is taking its payments by force from the families involved."

"So..." Hermione's eyes filled with tears as realization dawned upon her. "Ginny and Malfoy basically volunteered themselves to end the feud, when they were married," she whispered.

"I am afraid so," Snape said.

George stood and started walking away from the family, hands in his pockets, and no one stopped him. Harry nudged Luna with his elbow. When she turned, he gave her a meaningful look, one that she understood at once, and Luna got up and went after George.

"George --"

"I can't stay back there," he said. He wouldn't look at her. "My sister is dying, Luna. I can't stay back there."

"You don't have to," she said. She touched his arm and he stopped, just before they reached the Healers' station. "But you need to."

"Luna." His voice was a breath of air, a soft breeze, barely audible. He turned to her, his eyes shining with grief. "God, Luna, this is --"

"I know," Luna said, smothering a sob, and then she was in his arms, clinging to him with every ounce of strength in her body. His tears fell on the shoulder of her robes, and she knew he had been angry at her for keeping such a huge secret from him, but they were together for now and she didn't care, she didn't care.

"Marry me, Luna," George said into her ear, his fingers digging into her back. "I don't want to be like Ginny and Malfoy. I don't want to end up like them. Marry me."

"I will," Luna said, and she cried all the harder, because she knew Ginny wouldn't be at her wedding, the way she had always planned.

The Healer came out of Ginny's room then, her movements hurried. "The curse is too far advanced," she said in a clipped voice, looking at all of them. "You'd all better see her now and say your goodbyes."

The Weasleys quickly filed into the room, as Narcissa, Snape, and Blaise watched. "Only human beings," Blaise whispered.

He bowed his head and said no more.

* * *

She has returned to Geneva. The sun is hot above her, burning her bare feet, so she steps into the damp sand and feels the tide sweep over her skin. She moves slowly, taking her time to enjoy the weather. It is beautiful here, and peaceful, and so far from all of her troubles. She wishes she could live here.

"Rain clouds, oh they used to chase me," she sings. "Down they would pour. Join my tears..."

She hears a voice somewhere behind her, deeper than her own, beloved above all others. Her smile widens, but she keeps walking forward, forward into the land of endless sunshine.

"Join my tears, allay my fears," he sings, and his hand brushes hers. She turns and there he is, all in white, as wondrous and beautiful as she remembered.

He pulls her in close and her arms twine round his neck. Their foreheads touch and he looks directly into her eyes, his own sparkling like silver in the sun, and her heart is full again. "Sent to me from heaven," he whispers, "Sally Cinnamon, you are my world."

"You are my world," she echoes.

They are silent a moment, drinking the other in, reveling in being together at last. "I apologize for the lack of fanfare," he says, smirking, "but the angelic choir had the day off today."

She throws her head back and laughs, for they know it does not matter. She is with him again, in his arms again, and he kisses her like he always has: with his whole heart in his lips. All is right in the world, for she is safe, and comforted, and loved.

She is home.

**Author's note: **I'd like to thank everyone for reading my story. It's been a long journey (I started writing this all the way back in August!) but it's come to an end now. I couldn't have done it without all of you, my wonderful readers.


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